GIFT  OF 
A.    F.    Morrison 


THE  ADVENTURES  OF 
A  SUBURBANITE 


Other  Books  by 
ELLIS  PARKER  BUTLER 


The  Water  Goats  and  Other  Troubles, 

The  Thin  Santa  Glaus, 
Mike  Flannery:  On  Duty  and  Off, 
That  Pup,  Kilo,  The  Great  American  Pie  Company, 
Pigs  is  Pigs 


"7  saw  then  that  I  had  not  thoroughly  domesticated  my 
automobile" 


THE  ADVENTURES 
OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

BY 
ELLIS  PARKER  BUTLER 


ILLUSTRATIONS   BY   A.    B.    PHELAN 


GARDEN  CITY        NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1911 


»IA  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING   THAT  OF   TRANSLATION 
WTO  IOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING   THE  SCANDINAVIAN 

•/X'JPYRIGHT    igog,   IQIO,   IQII,  BY  DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 


CGJYUIGH*,  JQOO,  HT  THE  OENTURY  COMPANY 


GIFT  OP 


THE    COUNTRY    LIFE    PRESS,    GASOEN    CITY,    NEW     YORK 


CONTENTS 


Ivs92355 


PAGE 


I.  The  Prawleys 3 

II.  Mr.  Prawley's  Garden.      .  13 

III.  The  Equine  Palace        ...  31 

IV.  "Bob" 47 

V.  The  New  Mr.  Prawley      .      .  65 

VI.  The  Speckled  Hen        ...  91 

VII.  Chesterfield  Whiting     ...  117 

VIII.  Salted  Almonds 137 

IX.  The  Royal  Game     .      .      ,      .  157 

X.  Advanced  Golf         ....  173 

XI.  My  Domesticated  Automobile  187 

XII.  Mr.  Prawley  Returns   ...  205 

XIII.  Millington's  Motor  Mystery     .  217 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"I  saw  then  that  I  had  not  thoroughly  domes 
ticated  my  automobile"  .  .  Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

"By  the  time  I  had  spaded  all  day  I  began  to 
have  a  pretty  well  defined  opinion  of  gar 
dens  and  how  large  they  should  be"  .  8 

"  *  Well,'  she  said  thoughtfully,  *I  know  of  an  ex 
cellent  coloured  man  in  Lower  Westcote, 
that  we  can  hire  by  the  day*  "  .  .  .  26 

"But  I  told  her  it  would  inconvenience  the 
traffic  on  the  street  before  our  house  if  we 
moved  our  house  far  enough  into  the  street 
to  permit  putting  a  stable  of  that  size  in 
our  backyard" 40 

"  The  two  of  them  would  take  hold  of  a  board, 
one  at  either  end,  and  hold  it  in  their  hands, 
and  look  at  it,  and  think"  ....  54 

"Isobel  and  I  gathered  about  him  and  talked 

as  fast  as  we  could" 74 

"So  we  three  went  and  looked  over  the  ground 

again"  .  ....  96 


ILLUSTRATIONS— Continued 

FACING  PAGE 

"Millington  told  me  his  coop  was  not  as  he  had 

meant  it  to  be  " 106 

"Isobel  peeked  out  of  the  window,  and  told  me 
that  the  policeman  and  Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr. 
Millington  were  staring  at  our  attic  windows  "  144 

"Imagine  how  Rolfs  felt  when  he  opened  my 
suit  case  on  the  sleeper  and  found  a  rain 
coat,  a  pink  veil,  and  Chesterfield  Whiting"  152 

"He  merely  said,  'Well,  if  this  instrument  of 

torture  is  a  putter,  I'll  eat  it'"  .  .  .  166 

"When  my  putter  ceased  revolving  around  me 

Millington  seemed  unimpressed"  .  .  168 

"  Immediately  the  dog  was  impelled  forward  and 

upward,  giving  voice  " 180 

"Isobel  enjoyed  these  little  moments  exceed 
ingly"  .  .  .  .  .  194 

"Riding  in  my  machine  was  not  what  is  called 

'joy  riding'" 196 

"I  had  just  taken  my  automobile  apart"     .         .     200 


THE  PRAWLEYS 


I 

The  Prawleys 

ISOBEL  was  born  in  a  flat,  and  that  was 
no  fault  of  her  own;  but  she  was  born  in 
a  flat,  and  reared  in  a  flat,  and  married 
from  a  flat,  and,  for  two  years  after  we  were 
married,  we  lived  in  a  flat;  but  I  am  not  a 
born  flat-dweller  myself,  arid  as  soon  as 
possible  I  proposed  that  we  move  to  the 
country.  Isobel  hesitated,  but  she  hesitated 
so  weakly  that  on  the  first  of  May  we  had 
bought  the  place  at  Westcote  and  moved 
into  it. 

The  very  day  I  moved  into  my  house 
Millington  came  over  and  said  he  was  glad 
some  one  had  moved  in,  because  the  last  man 
that  had  lived  in  the  house  was  afraid  of 
automobiles,  and  would  never  take  a  spin 

with  him.     He  said  he  hoped  I  was  not  afraid; 

8 


4       ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

and  wtejn  I  said;  1/^ag  not,  he  immediately 
proposed,  that  we  take  a  little  spin  out  to 
Port  .L&iayettG  as  soon  as  I  had  my  furniture 
straightened  around.  I  thought  it  was  very 
nice  and  neighbourly  and  unusual  for  a  man 
with  an  automobile  to  begin  an  acquaintance 
that  way;  but  I  did  not  know  Millington's 
automobile  so  well  then  as  I  grew  to  know 
it  afterward. 

I  liked  Millington.  He  was  a  short,  Napo 
leon-looking  man,  with  bulldog  jaws  and  not 
very  much  hair,  and  I  was  glad  to  have  him 
for  a  neighbour,  particularly  as  my  neighbour 
on  the  other  side  was  a  tall,  haughty-looking 
man.  He  leaned  on  the  division  fence  and 
stared  all  the  while  our  furniture  was  being 
moved  in.  I  spoke  to  Millington  about 
him,  and  all  Millington  said  was:  "Rolfs? 
Oh,  he's  no  good!  He  won't  ride  in  an 
automobile." 

At  first,  while  we  were  really  getting  settled 
in  our  house,  Isobel  was  bright  and  cheerful 
and  seemed  to  have  forgotten  flats  entirely; 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE    5 

but  on  the  tenth  of  May  I  saw  a  change  com 
ing  over  her,  and  when  I  spoke  of  it  she  opened 
her  heart  to  me. 

"John,"  she  said,  "I  am  afraid  I  cannot 
stand  it.  I  shall  try  to,  for  your  sake,  but 
I  do  not  think  I  can.  I  am  so  lonely!  I 
feel  like  an  atom  floating  in  space." 

"Isobel!"  I  said  kindly  but  reprovingly. 
"With  the  Millingtons  on  one  side  and  the 
Rolfs  on  the  other?" 

"I  know,"  she  admit  ted  contritely  enough; 
"but  you  can't  understand.  Always  and 
always,  since  I  was  born,  some  one  has 
lived  overhead,  and  some  one  has  lived  under 
neath.  Sometimes  only  the  janitor  lived 
underneath  - 

"Isobel,"  I  said,  "if  you  will  try  to  explain 
what  you  mean 

"I  mean  flats,"  she  said  dolefully.  "I 
always  lived  in  a  flat,  John,  and  there  was 
always  a  family  above  and  a  family  below, 
and  it  frightens  me  to  think  I  am  in  a  house 
where  there  is  no  family  above  me,  and  not 


6        ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 
even  a  janitor's  family  below  me.     It  makes 
me  feel  naked,  or  suspended  in  air,  or  as  if 
there    was    no    ground    under    my    feet.     It 
makes  me  gasp !" 

"That  is  nonsense!"  I  said.  "That  is 
the  beauty  of  having  a  house.  We  have  it 
all  to  ourselves.  Now,  in  a  flat 

"We  had  our  flat  all  to  ourselves,  John/' 
she  reminded  me;  "but  a  flat  isn't  so  un 
bounded  as  a  house.  Just  think;  there  is 
nothing  between  us  and  the  top  of  the  sky! 
Not  a  single  family!  It  makes  me  nervous. 
And  there  is  nothing  beneath  us!" 

"Now,  my  dear,"  I  said  soothingly, 
"China  is  beneath  us,  and  no  doubt  a  very 
respectable  family  is  keeping  house  directly 
below." 

Isobel  sighed  contentedly. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  thought  of  that!"  she 
cried.  "Now,  when  I  feel  lonely,  I  can  imag 
ine  I  feel  the  house  jar  as  the  Chinese  family 
move  their  piano,  or  I  can  imagine  that  I 
hear  their  phonograph." 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE    7 

"Very  good,"  I  said;  "and  if  you  can 
imagine  all  that,  why  cannot  you  imagine 
a  family  overhead,  too?  The  whole  attic 
is  there.  Very  well;  I  give  up  the  entire 
attic  to  your  imagination." 

Then  I  kissed  her  and  went  into  the  back 
garden.  My  opinion  is  that  the  man  that 
laid  out  that  back  garden  was  over-sanguine. 
I  am  passionately  fond  of  gardening,  and 
believe  in  back  gardens;  but  at  the  present 
price  of  seed  and  the  present  hardness  of 
hoe  handles,  I  think  that  back  garden  is 
too  large.  This  is  not  a  mere  flash  opinion, 
either;  it  is  a  matter  of  study.  The  first  day 
I  stuck  spade  into  that  garden  I  had  given 
little  thought  to  its  size,  but  by  the  time  I  had 
spaded  all  day  I  began  to  have  a  pretty  well- 
defined  opinion  of  gardens  and  how  large 
they  should  be,  and  by  the  end  of  the  third 
day  of  spading  I  believe  I  may  say  I  was 
well  equipped  to  testify  as  an  expert  on 
garden  sizes.  That  was  the  day  the  blisters 
on  my  hands  became  raw. 


8   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

The  day  after  my  little  conversation  with 
Isobel  I  returned  home  from  business  to  find 
her  awaiting  me  at  the  gate.  She  wore  a 
bright  smile,  and  she  put  her  hand  through 
my  arm  and  hopped  into  step  with  me. 

44  John,"  she  said  cheerfully,  "the  Prawleys 
moved  in  to-day.'' 

'The  Prawleys?     Who  are  the  Prawleys, 
and  what  did  they  move  into?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  how  do  I  know  who  they  are, 
John?"  she  said.  "I  suppose  we  will  know 
all  about  them  soon  enough,  but  you  can't 
expect  me  to  learn  all  about  a  family  the  day 
they  move  in.  And  as  for  what  they  moved 
into,  of  course  there  was  only  one  vacant 
flat." 

"Flat?  One  vacant  flat?  What  flat?" 
I  asked.  I  was  afraid  Isobel  was  not  entirely 
herself. 

"The  one  above  us,"  she  said,  and  then  as 
she  saw  the  blank  look  on  my  face  she  said: 
c<The  —  the  —  oh,  John,  don't  you  under 
stand?  The  attic!" 


•H 

"By  the  time  I  had  spaded  all  day  I  began  to  have  a 
pretty  well  defined  opinion  of  gardens  and  how  large 
then  should  be  " 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   9 

"Hum!"  I  said  suspiciously,  looking  at 
Isobel;  but  her  face  was  so  bright,  and  she 
looked  so  thoroughly  contented  thafrl  did  not 
tell  her  what  I  thought  of  this  sort  of  pre 
tending.  Too  much  of  it  is  not  good  for  a 
person.  "Very  well,"  I  said;  "I  only  hope 
they  will  not  be  too  noisy." 

"I  don't  think  they  will,"  said  Isobel, 
smiling.  "At  least  not  while  you  are  home." 

She  helped  me  off  with  my  light  coat, 
and  when  we  were  seated  at  the  table  she  said : 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Millington  leaned  over 
the  fence  this  afternoon,  and  said  he  hoped 
you  would  take  a  little  ride  to  Port  Lafayette 
with  him  soon.  He  says  his  automobile 
is  in  almost  perfect  shape  now." 


MR.  PRAWLEY'S  GARDEN 


II 

MR.  PRAWLEY'S  GARDEN 

ISOBEL  was  brighter  at  dinner  than  she 
had  been  for  some  days.  She  seemed 
quite  contented,  now  that  the  imaginary 
Prawleys  had  moved  into  the  attic.  She 
said  no  more  about  them,  and  when  I  had 
finished  my  dinner  I  put  on  niy  gardening 
togs  and  went  out  to  garden  awhile  before 
dark.  Blisters  are  certainly  most  painful 
after  a  day  of  rest,  and  I  did  not  work  long. 
I  was  almost  in  despair  about  the  garden. 
Fully  half  had  not  been  touched,  and  what 
I  had  already  done  looked  ragged  and  as  if 
it  needed  doing  over  again.  The  more  I  dug, 
the  more  great  chunks  of  sod  I  found  buried 
in  it,  and  it  seemed  as  if  my  garden,  when  I 
had  dug  out  all  the  chunks  of  sod,  would  be 

18 


14      ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

a  pit  instead  of  a  level.  It  threatened  to  be 
a  sunken  garden. 

"Isobel,"  I  said  angrily,  when  the  sun 
had  set  and  I  was  once  more  sitting  in  the 
chair  on  my  veranda,  with  my  hands  wrapped 
in  wet  handkerchiefs,  "you  know  how  pas 
sionately  fond  of  gardening  I  am,  and  how 
I  longed  and  pined  for  a  garden  for  two  full 
years,  and  you  know,  therefore,  that  it  takes 
a  great  deal  of  gardening  to  satisfy  me;  but 
I  must  say  that  the  man  who  laid  out 
that  garden  must  have  been  a  man  of  shameful 
leisure.  He  laid  out  a  garden  twice  as  large 
as  any  garden  should  be." 

"Then  why  do  you  try  to  work  it  all?" 
she  asked. 

"Oh,  work  it!"  I  exclaimed  with  some 
irritation.  "I  can't  let  half  a  garden  go 
to  weeds!  That  would  look  nice,  wouldn't 
it!  I'll  work  it  all  right!  You  don't 
care  how  I  suffer  and  struggle.  You  sit 
here—-" 

The  next  evening  when  I  reached  home 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   15 

I  did  not  feel  particularly  happy.  My  hands 
were  quite  raw,  and  my  back  had  sharp  pains 
and  was  stiff,  and  I  spoke  gruffly  to  Milling- 
ton  when  he  suggested  an  automobile  ride 
to  Port  Lafayette  for  that  evening. 

"No!"  I  said  shortly.  "You  ought  to 
know  I  can't  go.  I've  got  to  kill  myself 
in  that  garden!" 

But  I  was  resolved  Isobel  should  never  see 
me  conquered  by  a  patch  of  ground,  and  after 
dinner  I  went  out  with  my  spade  and  hoe. 
When  my  glance  fell  on  the  garden  I  stopped 
short.  I  was  very  angry. 

"Isobel?"  I  called  sharply. 

She  came  tripping  around  the  house  and 
to  my  side. 

"Who  did  that?"  I  asked  severely.  I  was 
in  no  mood  for  nonsense. 

She  looked  at  the  garden.  One  half  of 
it  —  not  the  half  1  had  struggled  with,  but 
the  other  !half--had  been  spaded,  crushed, 
ridged,  planted,  and  left  in  perfect  condition. 
The  small  cabbage  plants  had  been  carefully 


16   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

watered.  Not  a  grain  of  earth  was  larger 
than  a  pin  head.  Not  a  blade  of  grass  stuck 
up  anywhere.  Isobel  looked  at  the  garden, 
and  then  at  me. 

"I  warned  him!"  she  said.  "I  warned  him 
you  would  be  angry  when  you  came  home! 
I  told  him  you  wanted  to  garden  that  half 
of  the  garden,  too,  and  that  you  would  prob 
ably  go  right  up  and  give  him  a  piece  of  your 
mind,  but  he  insisted  that  he  had  a  right  to 
half  the  garden,  and  - 

"Who  insisted  that  he  had  a  right  to  half 
iny  garden?"  I  demanded. 

"Why,"  said  Isobel,  as  if  surprised  at  the 
question,  "Mr.  Prawley  did." 

"Prawley?  Prawley?  I  don't  know  any 
Prawley!" 

"Don't  you  know  the  Prawley s  that  moved 
into  the  flat  above  us?"  said  Isobel.  "And 
he  is  a  very  nice  man,  too,"  she  continued. 
"He  was  not  at  all  rude.  He  merely  insisted, 
in  a  quiet  way,  that  as  he  was  a  tenant  and 
as  there  was  only  one  back  garden,  and  two 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   17 

families  in  the  house,  he  was  entitled  to  half 
the  garden." 

She  did  not  give  me  a  chance  to  speak,  but 
ran  on  in  that  vein,  while  I  stood  and  looked 
at  the  garden  and,  among  other  things, 
thought  of  my  blistered  hands  and  my  lame 
back. 

"Well  and  good,  Isobel,"  I  said  at  length. 
"I  do  not  wish  to  have  anything  to  say  to 
the  Prawleys,  nor  do  I  wish  to  quarrel  with 
them,  and  since  he  demands  half  the  garden 
you  may  tell  him  he  is  welcome  to  it.  I 
cannot  conceal  that  in  taking  half  of  it  away 
from  me  he  has  robbed  me  of  just  that  much 
passionate  happiness,  and  you  may  tell  him 
I  do  not  like  the  way  he  gardens,  but  I  will 
say  no  more  about  it!" 

"Oh,  you  dear  old  John!"  said  Isobel. 
"And  now  you  shall  not  touch  that  miser 
able  garden  with  your  poor  sore  hands.  You 
shall  just  sit  on  the  veranda  with  me  and  let 
me  bathe  your  palms  with  witch  hazel." 

Although   I   assumed   an   air   of   sternness 


18   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

in  speaking  to  Isobel  of  Mr.  Prawley  I  was 
glad  to  be  able  to  humour  her,  for  she  seemed 
so  much  happier  after  beginning  to  pretend 
that  the  Prawley  family  occupied  the  attic 
of  our  house.  Giving  in  to  these  harmless 
little  whims  of  our  wives  does  much  to  make 
life  pleasanter  for  them  —  and  for  us  —  and 
as  long  as  Mr.  Prawley  left  me  my  own  half 
of  the  garden  I  could  not  be  discontented. 
One  half  of  that  garden  was  really  all  a  man 
should  attempt  to  garden,  no  matter  how 
passionately  fond  of  gardening  he  might  be. 

It  is  fine  to  be  the  owner  of  a  bit  of  soil 
and  to  feel  the  joy  of  possession,  but  it  is 
still  more  delightful  to  be  able  to  see  one's 
own  garden  truck  springing  into  life  after 
one  has  dug  and  planted  and  weeded  and 
cultivated  with  one's  own  hands.  I  had  no 
greater  desire  in  life  than  to  devote  all  my 
spare  time  to  my  garden,  but  a  man  must 
give  his  health  some  attention,  and  Isobel 
pointed  out  that  if  I  gardened  but  one  half 
of  the  garden  I  would  have  time  to  ride  to 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE      19 

Port  Lafayette  with  Millington  in  his  auto 
mobile  now  and  then,  and  as  Port  Lafayette 
is  on  the  salt  water  the  air  would  be  good  for 
me. 

Port  Lafayette  is  about  eleven  miles  from 
Westcote,  and  I  had  often  wished  to  go  to 
Port  Lafayette,  but  Millington  is  absurdly 
jealous.  Of  course,  I  could  have  taken  Isobel 
by  train  in  about  one  half  hour,  or  I  could  walk 
it  in  two  or  three  hours,  or  drive  there  in  an 
hour;  but  I  knew  that  would  hurt  Millington' s 
feelings.  He  would  take  it  as  an  insult 
to  his  automobile. 

But  now  I  told  Isobel  that  as  soon  as  my 
garden  got  into  reasonable  shape  we  would 
go  to  Port  Lafayette  with  Millington.  Isobel 
told  me  that  my  health  was  more  important 
than  radishes,  and  reasoned  that  a  few  wreeds 
in  a  garden  were  not  a  bad  thing.  Weeds, 
she  said,  grow  rapidly,  while  vegetables  are 
modest  and  retiring  things,  and  she  considered 
that  a  few  weeds  in  my  half  of  the  garden 
might  set  a  good  example  to  the  vegetables. 


20  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 
Mr.  Prawley  evidently  held  a  different  view, 
for  he  did  not  allow  a  single  weed  to  raise 
its  head  in  his  half  of  the  garden,  and  I  told 
Isobel,  rather  sharply,  that  his  idea  was  the 
right  one,  and  that  I  should  weed  my  garden 
every  evening  until  there  was  not  a  weed 
in  it. 

"But,  John,"  she  said,  "I  have  never 
ridden  in  an  automobile,  and  it  would  be  a 
great  treat  for  me." 

"No  doubt,"  I  groaned  —  I  was  weeding 
in  my  garden  at  the  moment-  "but,  treat  or 
no  treat,  I  am  not  going  to  have  this  half  of 
the  garden  look  like  a  forest." 

"I  know  you  enjoy  it,"  she  began,  but  I 
silenced  her. 

"I  am  passionately  fond  of  gardening," 
I  said,  "  and  I  have  told  you  so  a  million  times. 
Now  will  you  leave  me  alone  to  enjoy  it, 
or  won't  you?" 

She  went  into  the  house  and  left  me  enjoy 
ing  it  alone. 

The  very  next  evening,  when  I  looked  into 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   21 

my  half  of  the  garden,  I  found  it  weeded 
and  put  into  the  best  of  shape,  and  when  I 
hunted  up  Isobel,  angry  indeed  at  having  so 
much  pleasure  taken  from  me,  she  did  not 
dare  look  me  in  the  eye. 

"Isobel,"  I  said  sharply,  "what  is  the 
meaning  of  this?" 

"John,"  she  said  meekly,  "I  am  afraid  I 
am  to  blame.  You  know  Mr.  Prawley  does 
not  like  automobile  riding ' 

"I  know  nothing  of  the  kind,  Isobel,"  I 
said.  "I  know  I  am  passionately  fond  of 
gardening,  and  that  some  one  has  robbed  me 
of  the  pleasure  I  have  looked  forward  to 
for  years:  the  joy  of  weeding  my  own  garden 
on  my  own  land." 

"Mr.  Prawley  does  not  like  automobile 
riding,"  continued  Isobel,  "and  he  came  to 
me  this  morning  and  told  me  his  health  was 
so  poor  that  his  doctor  had  told  him  nothing 
but  gardening  could  save  his  life.  When  he 
showed  the  garden  to  his  doctor,  the  doctor 
told  him  he  was  not  getting  half  enough  gar- 


22   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

dening  —  that  he  must  garden  twice  as  much. 
I  told  Mr.  Prawley  he  could  not  have  your 
half  of  the  garden,  because  you  were  passion 
ately  fond  of  it  - 

"True,  Isobel!"  I  said,  rubbing  my  back 
at  the  lamest  spot. 

"But  he  begged  on  his  knees,  saying  that 
while  it  was  only  a  pleasure  for  you,  it  was 
life  and  health  for  him,  and  when  his  wife 
wept,  I  had  not  the  heart  to  refuse.  He  said 
he  would  make  a  fair  exchange,  and  that  as 
he  was  an  anti-vegetarian  you  could  have  all 
the  vegetables  that  grew  in  your  own  half, 
and  all  that  grew  in  his,  too." 

"Isobel,"  I  said,  taking  her  hand,  "this 
is  a  great,  great  disappointment  to  me.  It 
robs  me  of  a  pleasure  of  which  I  may  say  I 
am  passionately  fond,  but  I  cannot  disown 
a  contract  made  by  my  little  wife.  Mr.  Praw 
ley  may  garden  my  half  of  the  garden." 

I  must  admit  that  the  Prawleys  were  ideal 
tenants.  Not  a  sound  came  from  his  floor 
of  the  house.  Indeed,  I  did  not  see  him  nor 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   23 

his  family  at  all.  But  during  my  days  in 
town  he  and  Isobel  seemed  to  have  many 
conversations,  and  she  was  so  tender-hearted 
and  easily  moved  that  one  by  one  she  let 
Mr.  Prawley  take  all  the  outdoor  work  of 
which  I  may  rightly  claim  to  be  passion  - 
to  be  exceedingly  fond. 

Mowing  the  lawn  is  one  of  the  things  in 
which  I  delight.  I  ardently  love  pushing 
the  lawn  mower,  and  if,  occasionally,  I  allowed 
the  grass  to  grow  rather  long,  it  was  only 
because  I  was  saving  the  pleasure  of  cutting 
it,  as  a  child  saves  the  icing  of  its  cake  for 
the  last  sweet  bite.  I  remember  remarking, 
quite  in  joke,  one  morning,  that  the  confound 
ed  lawn  needed  mowing  again,  and  that  the 
grass  seemed  to  do  nothing  but  grow,  and 
that  I'd  probably  have  to  break  my  back 
over  it  when  I  got  home  that  evening.  But 
when  I  reached  home  that  evening  I  suspected 
that  Isobel  must  have  taken  my  little  joke 
as  earnest,  for  the  lawn  was  nicely  mown  and 
the  edges  trimmed.  It  seemed,  when  I 


24   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

questioned  Isobel,  that  Mr.  Prawley's  doctor 
was  not  satisfied  with  his  progress  and  had 
assured  him  that  lawn  mowing  was  necessary 
for  his  complete  recovery.  Thus  Isobel  al 
lowed  Mr.  Prawley  to  usurp  another  of  my 
pleasures. 

So,  one  by  one,  the  outdoor  tasks  of 
which  I  am  so  passionately  fond  were  wrested 
from  me.  I  allowed  them  to  go  because  I 
thought  it  necessary  to  humour  Isobel  in 
her  pretence  that  some  family  occupied  a 
flat  above  us,  and  all  seemed  well;  and  we 
were  ready  to  go  to  Port  Lafayette  in  Mr. 
Millington's  automobile  whenever  it  was 
ready  to  take  us,  when  one  day  in  June  I 
happened  to  notice  that  our  grass  was  getting 
unusually  long  and  untidy. 

"Isobel,"  I  said,  "I  have  humoured  Mr. 
Prawley,  abandoning  to  him  all  the  outdoor 
chores  of  which  I  am  so  passionately  fond, 
but  if  he  is  to  do  this  lawn  I  want  him  to 
do  it,  and  not  neglect  it  shamefully.  I  will 
not  have  it  looking  like  this!" 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE      25 

"But,  John  — !"  she  began. 

"I  tell  you,  Isobel,"  I  said,  with  rising 
anger,  "I  won't  have  it!  I'll  stand  a  good 
deal,  but  when  I  have  robbed  myself  of  my 
greatest  pleasure,  and  then  see  the  other  man 
neglecting  it,  I  rebel.  If  this  goes  on  I'll 
forget  that  Mr.  Prawley  has  bad  health.  I'll 
enjoy  cutting  the  lawn  myself!" 

"John,"  said  Isobel,  throwing  her  arms 
about  my  neck,  "you  will  be  so  glad!  I  have 
good  news  to  tell  you!  The  Prawleys  have 
moved  away!  Now  you  can  do  all  your  own 
hoeing  and  mowing." 

"The  Prawleys  have  moved  away?"  I 
gasped. 

"Yes,"  she  said  cheerfully,  "and  now  you 
can  garden  all  the  garden,  and  cut  all  the 
lawn  and  rake  all  the  walks,  and  weed, 
and  do  all  the  things  you  are  so  fond  of 
doing." 

"Isobel,"  I  said  sternly,  "if  I  thought  only 
of  myself  I  would  indeed  be  glad.  But  I 
cannot  have  my  little  wife  fearing  the  empty 


26   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

flat  above  her.  You  must  immediately  hire 
another  —  er  —  get  another  family." 

"But  I  shall  not  be  nervous  any  more, 
John,"  she  said;  "and  it  is  a  shame  to  deprive 
you  of  the  outdoor  work." 

I  looked  out  upon  the  large  lawn  and  the 
large  garden. 

"No,  Isobel,"  I  said,  "you  must  take  no 
chances.  You  may  not  think  you  will  be 
nervous,  but  the  feeling  may  return.  If  you 
do  not  get  a  family  to  move  in,  I  shall!" 

I  rubbed  the  palms  of  my  hands  where  the 
blisters  had  been,  and  thought  of  the  middle 
of  my  back  where  the  pains  and  aches  had 
congregated.  I  was  ready  to  sacrifice  my 
passionate  longing  for  outdoor  work  once 
more  for  Isobel's  sake. 

"Well,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "I  know  of 
an  excellent  coloured  man  in  Lower  Westcote, 
that  we  can  hire  by  the  day  —  I  mean 
that  we  can  get  to  move  into  the  flat  —  but 
I  can  hardly  afford,  with  my  present  allowance, 
to  pay  his  wages  - —  that  is,  I  mean 


"'Well,'  she  said  thoughtfully,  *I'knb&)  'of  an'  excellent 
coloured  man  in  Lower  Westcote,  that  we  can  hire  by 
the 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   27 

"For  some  time,  Isobel,"  I  said  hastily, 
"I  have  been  thinking  your  allowance  was 
too  small.  You  must  have  a  —  a  great  many 
household  expenses  of  which  I  know  nothing." 

"I  have,"  she  said  simply. 

That  evening  when  I  returned  from  the  city 
I  saw  that  the  lawn  grass  had  been  cut  so 
closely  that  it  looked  as  if  the  lawn  had  been 
shaved.  Isobel  ran  to  meet  me. 

"John!"  she  cried;  "John!  Who  do  you 
think  has  moved  into  the  flat  overhead?" 

"Dear  me!"  I  exclaimed.  "How  should 
I  know?" 

"The  Prawleys!"  she  cried.  "The  Praw- 
leys  have  moved  back  again.  Are  you  not 
glad?" 

I  concealed  my  chagrin.  I  hid  the  sorrow 
with  which  I  saw  my  passionate  fondness 
for  outdoor  work  once  more  defeated  of  its 
object. 

"Isobel,"  I  said,  "I  wish  you  would  tell 
Mr.  Prawley's  doctor  to  tell  Mr.  Prawley 
that  it  is  imperative  for  Mr.  Prawley's  best 


28   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

health  that  Mr.  Prawley  dig  the  grass  out  of 
the  gravel  walks  to-morrow.     Tell  him  - 

"I  told  him  this  evening  to  do  the  walks  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning,"  said  Isobel 
innocently,  "and  when  he  has  done  them  I 
am  going  to  have  him  help  Mary  wash  the 
windows." 


THE  EQUINE  PALACE 


Ill 

The  Equine  Palace 

NOW  that   Mr.    Prawley  is  back,"   I 
told  Isobel,  "we  can  take  that  trip 
to  Port  Lafayette  with  Millington," 
and  it  was  then  Isobel  mentioned  the  advis 
ability  of  keeping  a  horse;  but  Millington  and 
I,   not   being   afraid   of   automobiles,   began 
to  go  to  Port  Lafayette  in  his  automobile. 
As  a  rule  we  began  to  go  every  day,  and  some 
times  twice  a  day,  and  I  must  say  for  Mil- 
lington's  automobile  that  it  was  one  of  the 
most  patient  I  have  ever  seen.     Patient  and 
willing  are  the  very  words.     It  would  start 
for  Port  Lafayette  as  willingly  as  anything, 
and  go  along  as  patiently  as  possible.     It  was  a 
very  patient  goer.    Haste  had  no  charms  for  it. 
Millington  used  to  come  over  bright  and 
31 


32   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

early  and  say  cheerfully,  "Well,  how  would 
you  like  to  take  a  little  run  out  to  Port 
Lafayette  to-day?"  and  I  would  get  my  cap, 
and  we  would  go  over  to  his  garage  and  get 
into  the  machine.  Then  Millington  would 
pull  a  lever  or  two,  and  begin  to  listen  for 
noises  indicative  of  internal  disorders.  As 
a  rule,  they  began  immediately,  but  some 
times  he  would  not  hear  anything  that  could 
be  called  really  serious  until  we  reached  the 
corner  of  the  block.  Once,  I  remember,  and 
I  shall  never  forget  the  date,  we  went  three 
miles  before  Millington  stopped  the  car 
and  got  out  his  wrenches  and  antiseptic 
bandages  and  other  surgical  tools;  but  usually 
the  noises  began  inside  of  the  block.  Then 
we  would  push  it  home,  and  postpone  the 
trip  for  that  day,  while  Millington  laboured 
over  the  automobile. 

"We  will  get  to  Port  Lafayette  yet,"  he 
would  say  hopefully. 

As  soon  as  Isobel  mentioned  keeping  a 
horse  I  knew  she  was  beginning  to  like  suburb- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   33 

an  life,  and  I  was  delighted.  Having  lived 
all  her  life  in  a  flat,  her  mind  naturally  ran 
to  theatres  and  roof  gardens,  rather  than 
to  the  delights  of  the  suburbs,  and  her  reading 
still  consisted  more  of  department  store 
bargain  sales  and  advertisements  of  new 
plays  than  of  seed  catalogues  and  ready 
mixed  paints,  as  a  good  suburban  wife's 
reading  should;  but  as  soon  as  she  mentioned 
that  it  would  be  nice  to  have  a  horse  I  knew 
she  was  at  length  falling  a  victim  to  the  allure 
ments  of  our  semi-country  existence.  In 
order  to  add  fuel  to  the  flame  I  took  up  the 
suggestion  with  enthusiasm. 

"Isobel,"  I  said  warmly,  "that  is  a  splendid 
idea!  A  horse  is  just  what  we  need  to  add 
the  finishing  touch  to  our  happiness!  With 
these  splendid,  tree-bordered  roads  - 

"A  horse  that  is  not  afraid  of  Mr.  Milling- 
ton's  automobile,"  interposed  Isobel. 

"Certainly,"  I  said,  "a  horse  that  you  can 
drive  without  fear  - 

"But  not  a  pokey  old  thing,"  said  Isobel. 


34   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

"By  no  means,"  I  agreed;  "what  we  want 
is  a  young,  fresh  horse  that  can  get  over  the 
road  - 

"And  gentle,"  said  Isobel.  "And  strong. 
And  he  must  be  a  good-looking  horse.  One 
with  a  glossy  skin.  Reddish  brown,  with  a 
long  tail.  I  would  like  a  great,  big,  strong- 
looking  horse,  like  the  Donelleys',  but  faster, 
like  the  Smiths'." 

"Exactly,"  I  said.  "That's  the  sort  of 
horse  I  had  in  mind.  And  we  will  get  the 
horse  immediately.  I  shall  stay  at  home  to 
morrow  and  select  the  kind  of  horse  we  want, 
unless  Mr.  Millington  takes  me  to  Port 
Lafayette  - 

"Now,  John,"  said  Isobel,  "you  must  not 
be  too  hasty.  You  must  be  careful.  I  think 
the  right  way  to  buy  a  horse  is  to  shop  a  little 
first,  and  see  what  people  have  in  stock, 
and  not  take  the  first  thing  that  is  offered, 
the  way  you  do  when  you  buy  shirts.  You 
know  how  hideous  some  of  those  last  shirts 
are,  and  the  arms  far  too  long,  and  we  don't 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   35 

want  anything  like  that  to  happen  when  you 
are  buying  a  horse.  I  have  been  talking 
to  Mrs.  Rolfs,  and  she  says  it  is  mere  folly 
to  buy  the  first  horse  that  is  offered.  Mrs. 
Rolfs  says  it  stands  to  reason  that  a  man 
who  wants  to  get  rid  of  a  horse  would  be  the 
first  man  to  offer  it.  As  soon  as  he  learned 
we  wanted  a  horse  he  would  rush  to  us  with 
the  horse,  so  as  not  to  lose  the  chance  of 
getting  rid  of  it.  And  Mrs.  Millington  says 
it  is  worse  than  foolish  to  wait  until  the  very 
last  horse  is  offered  and  then  buy  that  one, 
for  the  man  that  hung  back  in  that  way 
would  undoubtedly  be  the  man  that  did  not 
particularly  care  to  part  with  his  horse,  and 
would  feel  that  he  was  doing  us  a  favour, 
and  would  ask  a  perfectly  unreasonable 
price.  The  thing  to  do,  John,  is  to  buy,  as 
nearly  as  possible,  the  middle  horse  that  is 
offered.  If  twenty-one  horses  were  offered 
the  thing  to  do  would  be  to  buy  the  eleventh 
horse,  and  in  that  way  we  would  be  sure  to 
get  a  good  horse  at  a  reasonable  price." 


36   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

I  told  Isobel  that  what  she  said  was  per 
fectly  logical,  and  that  I  would  get  right  to 
work  and  frame  up  an  advertisement  for  the 
local  paper,  saying  we  wanted  a  horse  and 
would  be  glad  to  examine  twenty-one  of  them. 

"Now,  wait  a  minute,"  she  said,  when  I 
had  started  for  my  desk, "and  don't  be  in 
too  great  a  hurry.  You  know  the  mistake 
you  made  in  those  last  socks  you  bought,  by 
going  into  the  first  store  you  came  to,  and 
the  very  first  time  you  put  on  those  socks 
they  wore  full  of  holes.  We  don't  want  a 
horse  that  will  wear  like  that.  Mrs.  Rolfs  says 
we  must  be  very  particular  what  sort 
of  man  we  buy  our  horse  from.  She  says  it 
is  like  suicide  to  buy  a  horse  from  a  dealer, 
because  a  dealer  knows  so  much  more  about 
horses  than  we  do,  and  is  up  to  so  many  tricks, 
that  he  would  have  no  trouble  at  all  in  fooling 
us,  and  we  would  probably  get  a  horse  that 
was  worth  nothing  at  all.  And  Mrs.  Milling- 
ton  says  it  is  the  greatest  mistake  in  the  world 
to  buy  a  horse  from  an  ordinary  suburban 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   37 

commuter.  She  says  commuters  know  noth 
ing  at  all  about  horses  and  just  buy  them 
blindfold,  and  that,  if  we  buy  a  horse  from 
a  commuter,  we  are  sure  to  get  a  worthless 
horse  that  the  commuter  has  had  foisted  upon 
him  and  is  anxious  to  get  rid  of.  The  person 
to  buy  a  horse  of,  John,  is  a  person  that 
knows  all  about  horses,  but  who  is  not  a 
dealer." 

"My  idea  exactly,"  I  told  Isobel,  and 
started  for  my  desk  again. 

"John,  dear,"  said  Isobel,  before  I  had 
taken  two  steps,  "why  are  you  always  so 
impetuous?  Of  course  I  want  a  horse,  and 
I  would  like  to  have  it  as  soon  as  possible, 
but  I  believe  in  exercising  a  little  common 
sense.  Where,  may  I  ask,  are  you  going 
to  keep  the  horse  when  you  have  got  him?" 

NOWT,  this  had  not  occurred  to  me,  but  I 
answered  promptly. 

"I  shall  put  him  out  to  board,"  I  said  un 
hesitatingly,  and  there  was  really  nothing 
else  I  could  say,  for  there  was  no  stable  on 


38   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

my  place.  I  know  plenty  of  suburbanites 
who  keep  horses  and  have  them  boarded  at 
the  livery  stables.  But  this  did  not  please 
Isobel. 

:4You  must  do  nothing  of  the  kind!"  said 
Isobel  firmly.  "Mrs.  Rolfs  and  Mrs.  Mil- 
lington  both  say  there  is  nothing  worse  for 
a  good  horse  than  to  put  it  out  to  board.  Mrs. 
Rolfs  says  it  is  much  cheaper  to  keep  your 
horse  in  your  own  barn,  and  Mrs.  Millington 
says  she  would  have  a  very  low  opinion  of 
any  man  who  would  trust  his  horse  to  a  livery 
man.  She  says  the  horse  is  man's  most 
faithful  servant,  and  should  be  treated  as 
such,  and  that  she  has  not  the  least  doubt 
that  the  liveryman  would  underfeed  our  horse, 
and  then  let  it  out  to  hire  to  some  young 
harum-scarum,  who  would  whip  it  into  a  gallop 
until  it  got  overheated,  and  then  water  it 
when  it  was  so  hot  the  water  would  sizzle 
in  its  stomach,  creating  steam  and  giving  it 
a  bad  case  of  colic.  And  Mrs.  Rolfs  says 
the  liveryman  would  be  pleased  with  this, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   39 

rather  than  sorry,  for  then  he  would  have  to 
call  in  the  veterinary,  who  would  divide  his 
fee  with  the  liveryman.  So,  you  see,  we 
must  keep  our  horse  in  our  own  stable." 

"But,  my  dear,"  I  protested,  "we  have 
no  stable." 

"Then  we  must  build  one,"  said  Isobel 
with  decision.  "Mrs.  Rolfs,  as  soon  as  she 
heard  we  were  going  to  keep  a  horse,  lent 
me  a  magazine  with  a  picture  of  a  very  nice 
stable,  and  Mrs.  Millington  lent  me  another 
magazine  with  some  excellent  hints  on  how 
a  modern  stable  should  be  arranged,  and  I 
think,  with  all  the  modern  methods  of  doing 
things  rapidly,  we  might  have  our  stable 
all  complete  in  a  week,  or  ten  days  at  the 
most." 

When  I  looked  at  Mrs.  Rolfs's  picture 
of  a  stable  I  felt  immediately  that  it  would 
not  suit  my  purse.  I  admitted  to  Isobel 
that  it  was  a  handsome  stable,  and  that  the 
cupola  with  the  weather  vane  looked  very 
well  indeed,  and  that  the  idea  of  having  two 


40   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

wings  extended  from  the  main  building  to 
form  a  sort  of  court  was  a  good  one;  but  I 
told  her  it  would  inconvenience  the  traffic 
on  the  street  before  our  house  if  we  moved 
our  house  far  enough  into  the  street  to  permit 
putting  a  stable  of  that  size  in  our  back-yard. 
I  also  told  her,  as  gently  as  I  could,  that  the 
style  of  architecture  did  not  suit  our  house, 
for  while  our  house  is  a  plain  house,  the  stable 
recommended  by  Mrs.  Rolfs  was  pressed 
brick  and  stained  shingles,  with  a  slate  roof. 
I  also  pointed  out  to  Isobel  that  one  horse 
hardly  needed  a  stable  of  that  size,  and  that 
even  a  very  large  horse  would  feel  lonely  in 
the  main  building. 

I  remarked  jocosely  that  it  would  be  well 
enough,  if  we  could  keep  two  or  three  grooms 
with  nothing  to  do  but  hunt  through  the  stable, 
trying  to  find  the  horse.  If  we  could  afford 
to  do  that,  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  awaken 
in  the  morning  and  have  one  of  the  grooms 
come  running  to  us  with  the  light  of  joy  on 
his  face,  saying,  "What  do  you  think,  sir? 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   41 

Jeems  has  found  the  'orse!  An'  'e  ain't 
been  'untin'  'im  but  three  days,  sir!  Smart 
lad,  is  Jeems,  sir!" 

Isobel  smiled  in  a  wan,  sad  way  at  this, 
so  I  did  not  say,  as  I  had  intended  saying 
if  she  had  received  my  joke  well,  that  the 
only  horse  requiring  wings  was  Pegasus,  arid 
that  he  furnished  his  own. 

Instead,  I  took  up  Mrs.  Millington's  article 
on  the  modern  stable.  It  was  a  masterly 
article,  indeed,  and  it  spoke  highly  of  the 
gravity  stable.  No  hay  forks,  no  pitching 
up  forage,  no  elevating  feed,  no  loading  of 
manure  from  a  heap  into  a  wagon.  No, 
indeed!  Everything  must  go  down;  the 
natural  law  of  gravitation  must  do  the  work. 
Three  stories,  with  the  rear  of  the  stable 
against  the  side  of  the  hill.  Drive  your  feed 
into  the  top  story  and  unload  it.  Slide  it 
down  into  the  second  story  to  the  horse. 
Through  a  trap  in  the  stall  the  manure  falls 
into  a  wagon  waiting  to  receive  it. 

There  were  other  details  —  electric  lights, 


42      ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

silver-mounted  chains,  and  other  little  things 
—  but  I  did  not  pay  much  attention  to  them. 
I  explained  to  Isobel  that  it  would  be  difficult 
to  build  a  firm,  solid  hill,  large  enough  to 
back  a  three-story  stable  against,  in  our  back 
yard.  Of  course,  there  were  plenty  of  hills 
in  our  part  of  Long  Island  that  were  lying 
idle  and  might  be  had  at  low  cost,  but  it 
costs  a  great  deal  to  move  a  hill,  and  all  of 
them  were  so  large  they  would  overlap  our 
property  and  bury  the  homes  of  Mr.  Rolfs 
and  Mr.  Millington.  This  did  not  greatly 
impress  Isobel,  however,  and  I  had  to  come 
out  firmly  and  tell  her  it  would  be  impossible 
to  build  a  stable  three  stories  high,  with 
two  wings,  pressed  brick,  shingle  walls,  slate 
roof,  and  a  weather  vane,  and  at  the  same 
time  erect  a  nice  hill  and  buy  a  horse  and  rig, 
all  with  one  thousand  dollars,  which  was 
all  the  money  I  could  afford  to  spend. 

When  I  put  it  that  way,  and  gave  her  her 
choice  of  one  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  hill, 
or  one  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  stable, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   43 

or  one  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  assorted 
horse,  stable,  and  rig,  she  chose  the  last, 
and  only  remarked  that  she  would  insist 
on  the  weather  vane  and  the  manure  pit. 
She  said  that  Mrs.  Rolfs  had  taken  such  an 
interest,  bringing  over  the  magazine,  that 
it  was  only  right  to  have  the  weather  vane, 
at  least;  and  that  Mrs.  Millington  had  been 
so  interested  and  kind  that  the  very  least 
we  could  do  was  to  have  the  manure  pit. 

"And  another  thing,"  said  Isobel,  "Mr. 
Prawley  is  going  to  move  out  of  the  flat  over 
head." 

"Great  Csesar!"  I  exclaimed.  "Is  that 
man  quitting  again?  Isn't  he  getting  enough 
wages?" 

' '  Wages  ?"  said  Isobel .  "  N  oth  ing  has  been 
said  about  wages.  But  this  Mr.  Prawley 
will  not  stay  if  we  buy  a  horse.  He  says  he 
does  not  mind  gardening  your  garden  and 
mowing  your  lawn  and  taking  all  your  other 
outdoor  exercise  for  you,  but  that  a  horse 
once  reached  over  the  side  of  the  stall  and 


44   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

bit  him,  and  he  doesn't  want  to  work --to 
live  in  a  place  where  horses  are  liable  to  bite 
him  at  any  time  without  a  minute's  notice." 

"Tell  that  fellow,"  I  said,  "that  we  will 
get  a  horse  that  doesn't  bite,  or  that  we  will 
muzzle  the  horse,  or 

"It  would  be  easier,"   said  Isobel,   "to— 
to  have  a  Prawley   move  in  who  was  not 
afraid  of  horses.     I  know  of  a  man  in  East 
Westcote,   and  he  has  had  experience  with 
horses  - 

"Very  well,"  I  said.  "I  suppose  you  will 
wish  your  allowance  increased?" 

"Yes,"  said  Isobel,  "if  the  new  Mr.  Praw 
ley  moves  into  the  flat  overhead,  I  will  need 
about  five  dollars  a  month  more  than  you 
have  been  allowing  me." 


'BOB' 


IV 

"  Bob" 

THE  next  morning  I  stayed  at  home 
to  see  about  getting  the  stable 
built  in  a  hurry,  but  before  I  had 
finished  breakfast  Millington  came  over  and 
said  it  was  an  ideal  day  for  a  little  spin  up 
to  Port  Lafayette  in  his  automobile.  He  said 
the  whole  machine  was  in  perfect  order  and 
we  would  dash  out  to  Port  Lafayette,  have  a 
bath  in  the  salt  water,  and  come  spinning 
back,  and  he  told  Isobel  and  me  to  get  on 
our  hats,  and  he  would  have  the  car  before^ 
the  door  in  a  minute. 

Isobel  and  I  hastily  finished  our  coffee  and 
put  on  our  hats  and  went  out  to  the  gate, 
for,  although  we  were  very  eager  to  build  the 
stable,  we  did  not  like  to  offend  Millington 
by  refusing  his  invitation,  when  he  had  asked 

47 


48   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

us  so  often  to  go  to  Port  Lafayette.  In  half 
an  hour  he  arrived  at  the  gate,  and  we 
climbed  in. 

Our  usual  custom,  on  these  trips  to  Port 
Lafayette,  was  for  Millington  and  me  to 
sit  in  front,  while  Isobel  and  Mrs.  Millington 
sat  in  the  rear.  There  was  a  nice  little  gate 
in  the  rear  by  which  they  could  enter. 

You  see,  Millington's  automobile  was  just 
a  little  old.  I  should  not  go  so  far  as  to  say 
it  was  the  first  automobile  ever  made.  It 
was  probably  the  thirteenth,  and  Millington 
was  probably  the  thirteenth  owner.  I  know 
it  had  four  cylinders,  because  Millington  was 
constantly  remarking  that  only  three  were 
working.  Sometimes  only  one  worked,  and 
sometimes  that  one  did  not. 

When  we  were  all  comfortably  arranged 
in  our  seats,  and  all  snugly  tucked  in,  Milling- 
ton  cranked  the  machine  for  half  an  hour, 
and  then  remarked  regretfully  that  this  was 
one  of  the  days  none  of  the  cylinders  was 
working,  and  we  got  out  again. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   49 

Mr.  Rolfs  had  come  out  to  see  us  start, 
and  he  helped  Millington  and  me  push  the 
automobile  back  to  the  Millington  garage; 
and  as  I  walked  homeward  he  said  he  had 
heard  I  was  going  to  buy  a  horse,  and  he 
wanted  to  give  me  a  little  advice. 

"Probably  you  have  not  given  much  at 
tention  to  the  subject  of  deforestation," 
he  said,  "but  I  have,  and  it  is  the  great  crime 
of  our  age." 

I  told  him  I  did  not  see  what  that  had 
to  do  with  my  purchasing  a  horse,  but  he  said 
it  had  everything  to  do  with  it. 

"When  you  buy  a  horse,  you  have  to  erect 
a  stable,"  he  said,  "and  when  you  erect  a 
stable,  you  have  to  buy  lumber,  and  when 
you  have  to  buy  lumber,  you  suffer  in  your 
purse  because  the  forests  have  been  ruth 
lessly  destroyed.  As  a  friend  and  neighbour 
I  would  not  have  you  go  and  purchase  poor 
lumber,  and  with  it  build  a  stable  that  will 
rot  to  pieces  in  a  few  years.  You  must  buy 
the  best  lumber,  and  that  is  too  expensive 


50  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 
to  use  recklessly.  I  want  to  warn  you  par 
ticularly  about  wire  nails.  Do  not  let  your 
builder  use  them.  They  loosen  in  a  short 
time  and  allow  the  boards  to  warp  and  crack. 
Personally,  if  I  were  building  a  stable  I 
should  have  the  ends  of  the  boards  dove 
tailed,  and  instead  of  nails  I  should  use  ash 
pegs,  but  I  understand  you  do  not  wish  to 
go  to  great  expense,  so  screws  will  do.  Let 
it  be  part  of  your  contract  that  not  a  nail 
shall  be  used  in  your  stable  —  nothing  but 
screws,  and  if  you  can  afford  brass  screws, 
so  much  the  better.  But  remember,  no 
nails!" 

I  thanked  Rolfs,  and  when  Millington  came 
over  to  invite  me  to  take  a  little  run  up  to 
Port  Lafayette  the  next  morning  I  told  him 
what  Mr.  Rolfs  had  said. 

"Now  that  is  just  like  Rolfs,"  he  said, 
"impractical  as  the  day  is  long.  Screws 
would  not  do  at  all.  The  carpenters  would 
drive  the  screws  with  a  hammer,  and  the 
screws  would  crack  the  wood.  Take  my 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   51 

advice  and  let  it  be  part  of  your  contract 
that  not  a  screw  is  to  be  used  in  your  stable; 
nothing  but  wire  nails.  But  stipulate  long 
wire  nails;  wire  nails  so  long  that  they  will 
go  clear  through  and  clinch  on  the  other  side, 
and  then  see  that  each  and  every  nail  is 
clinched.  If  you  do  this  you  will  have  no 
trouble  with  split  lumber  and  not  a  board 
will  work  loose." 

When  I  spoke  to  the  builder  about  the 
probable  cost  of  the  stable,  I  was  sorry  I 
had  been  so  lenient  with  Isobel,  and  that  I 
had  not  put  my  foot  down  on  the  weather 
vane  at  once.  A  weather  vane  does  not  add 
to  the  comfort  of  a  family  horse,  and  the 
longer  I  spoke  with  the  builder  the  surer  I 
became  that  what  I  needed  was  not  a  lot  of 
gimcracks,  but  a  plain,  simple,  story-and-a- 
half  affair,  with  the  chaste  architectural  lines 
of  a  dry-goods  box.  I  mentioned,  casually, 
the  hints  Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr.  Millington  had 
given  me,  but  the  builder  did  not  seem  very 
enthusiastic  about  them.  He  snorted  in  a 


52      ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

peculiar  way  and  then  said  that  if  I  was  going 
in  for  that  sort  of  thing  I  could  get  better 
results  by  having  no  nails  or  screws  at  all. 
He  said  I  could  have  holes  bored  in  the  boards 
with  a  gimlet,  and  have  the  stable  laced 
together  with  rawhide  thongs,  but  that  when 
I  got  ready  to  talk  business  in  a  sensible  way, 
I  could  let  him  know.  He  said  this  was  his 
busy  day,  and  that  his  office  was  not  a  lunatic 
asylum. 

I  managed  to  calm  him  in  less  than  half 
an  hour,  and  he  remained  quite  docile  until 
I  mentioned  Isobel  and  said  she  hoped  he 
would  have  the  stable  ready  for  the  horse 
within  a  week.  It  took  me  much  longer 
to  calm  him  that  time.  For  a  few  moments 
I  feared  for  his  reason.  But  he  quieted  down. 

Then  I  showed  him  a  plan  I  had  drawn, 
showing  the  working  of  the  manure  dump, 
and  this  had  quite  a  different  effect  on  him. 
It  pleased  him  immensely,  as  I  could  see  by 
his  face.  I  explained  how  it  operated;  how 
throwing  a  catch  allowed  one  end  of  the  stall 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   53 

floor  to  drop,  while  the  other  end  of  the  stall 
floor  was  held  in  place  by  hinges,  and  he  said 
it  was  certainly  a  new  idea.  He  asked  me 
whether  it  was  Mr.  Rolfs's  idea  or  Mr.  Mil- 
lington's,  and  when  I  told  him  I  had  worked 
out  the  plan  myself,  he  said  he  had  rather 
thought  so. 

"It  is  just  such  a  plan  as  I  should  expect 
a  man  of  your  intelligence  to  work  out,"  he 
said. 

Then  he  asked  to  see  my  bank-book,  and 
when  I  had  shown  him  just  how  much  money 
I  had,  he  said  the  best  way  to  build  the  stable 
was  by  the  day.  If  it  was  built  by  the  job, 
he  explained,  a  builder  naturally  had  to  hurry 
the  job,  and  things  were  not  done  as  carefully 
as  I  wished  them  done;  but  if  it  was  done  by 
the  day,  every  hammer  stroke  would  be  care 
fully  made,  and  I  could  pay  every  evening 
for  the  work  done  that  day. 

About  the  third  week  of  the  building  opera 
tions  those  careful  hammer  strokes  began  to 
get  on  my  nerves.  I  never  knew  hammer 


54  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 
strokes  so  carefully  considered  and  so  cau 
tiously  delivered.  The  carpenters  were  most 
careful  about  them,  and  several  times  I 
spoke  to  the  builder  and  suggested  that  if 
shorter  nails  were  used  perhaps  it  would  not 
take  so  many  strokes  of  the  hammer  to  drive 
them  in.  I  told  him,  if  he  was  willing,  I  was 
willing  to  have  the  rest  of  the  stable  done 
by  the  job,  but  he  said  it  had  gone  too  far 
for  that. 

There  were  two  men  working  on  my  stable 
—  "two  souls  with  but  a  single  thought," 
Isobel  called  them  —  and  they  were  hard 
thinkers.  The  two  of  them  would  take  hold 
of  a  board,  one  at  either  end,  and  hold  it  in 
their  hands,  and  look  at  it,  and  think.  I 
do  not  know  what  they  thought  about  — 
deforestation,  probably  —  but  they  would 
think  for  ten  minutes  and  then  put  the  board 
gently  to  one  side  and  think  about  another 
board.  They  did  their  thinking,  as  they  did 
their  work,  by  the  day. 

We  had  plenty  of  time   in  which  to  select 


"  The  two  of  them  would  take  hold  of  a  board,  one  at 
either  end,  and  hold  it  in  their  hands,  and  look  at  it,  and 
think" 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   55 

our  horse  while  our  stable  was  building.  My 
advertisement  in  the  local  paper  brought  a 
horse  to  my  door  the  morning  after  it  appeared, 
and  no  horse  could  have  suited  me  quite  so 
well  as  that  one,  but  I  was  resolute  and  firm. 
I  told  the  man --he  was  not  a  dealer  nor 
yet  a  commuter,  and  my  conversation  with 
him  showed  me  that  he  knew  just  enough, 
and  not  too  much,  about  horses  —  that  I 
liked  his  horse  very  well  indeed,  but  that 
I  could  not  purchase  it.  At  this  he  seemed 
downcast,  and  I  did  not  blame  him.  He 
seemed  to  take  my  refusal  as  some  sort  of 
personal  insult,  for  the  horse  was  young, 
large,  strong,  gentle,  and  speedy,  and  the 
price  was  right;  but  every  time  I  began  to 
weaken  Isobel  said,  "John,  remember  number 
eleven!"  and  I  refrained  from  purchasing 
that  horse.  I  finally  sent  the  man  away  with 
warm  expressions  of  my  esteem  for  him  as  a 
man,  but  that  did  not  seem  to  cheer  him 
much. 

An  hour  later  another  man  brought  another 


56   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

horse,  and  I  sent  him  away  also,  as  was  my 
duty,  for  he  was  only  number  two;  but  he 
was  hardly  gone  when  horse  number  one 
appeared  again.  I  saw  at  once  that  I  was 
going  to  have  trouble  with  that  man.  He  was 
so  sure  he  had  the  horse  I  wanted  that  he 
would  not  go  away  and  stay  away.  He  kept 
coming  back,  and  each  time  he  went  away 
sadder  than  before.  He  was  a  sad-looking 
man,  anyway,  and  he  would  sit  in  his  buggy 
and  talk  to  me  until  another  horse  was  driven 
up,  and  then  he  would  sigh  and  drive  down 
to  the  corner,  and  sit  and  look  at  me  re 
proachfully  until  the  other  man  drove  away 
again.  Then  he  would  drive  back  and  re 
proach  me,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  for  not 
buying  his  horse.  By  lunch  time  I  was 
almost  worn  out,  and  I  told  Isobel  as  much 
when  I  looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw 
that  handsome  horse  and  his  sad  driver 
waiting  patiently  at  my  gate.  I  told  her 
I  was  tempted  to  take  that  horse,  Mrs. 
Rolfs  or  no  Mrs.  Rolfs. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   57 

"Take  that  horse?"  said  Isobel,  as  if  my 
words  surprised  her.  "Why,  of  course  we 
are  going  to  take  that  horse!" 

"But,  my  dear,"  I  said,  "after  what  you 
told  me  about  taking  the  eleventh  horse?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Isobel.  "What  is  this 
but  the  eleventh  horse?  It  came  first,  and 
then  another  horse  came,  and  then  this  one 
came  third,  and  then  some  other  horse  came, 
and  then  this  one  came  fifth,  and  so  on,  and 
now  it  is  standing  there  at  the  gate,  the 
eleventh  horse.  Certainly  we  will  buy  this 
horse." 

"Isobel,"  I  said,  "we  might  quite  as  well 
have  bought  it  the  first  time  it  was  driven 
to  our  gate  as  this  time." 

"Not  at  all,"  she  said;  "that  would  have 
been  an  altogether  different  thing.  If  we 
had  taken  the  first  horse  that  was  offered 
we  would  have  regretted  it  all  our  lives;  but 
now  we  can  take  this  horse  and  feel  perfectly 
safe." 

Bob  —  that  was  the  name  of  the  horse  — 


58   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

fitted  into  our  stable  pretty  well.  He  had 
to  bend  rather  sharply  in  the  middle  to  get 
out  of  his  stall,  but  he  was  quite  limber  for 
a  horse  of  his  age  and  size,  so  he  managed  it 
very  well.  A  stiffer  horse  might  have  broken 
in  two  or  have  been  permanently  bent.  The 
stall  was  so  economically  built  that  a  large, 
long  horse  like  Bob  stuck  out  of  it  like  a  long 
ship  in  a  short  dock  ;  he  stuck  out  so  far  that 
we  had  to  go  around  through  the  carriage 
room  to  get  on  the  other  side  of  him.  Our 
new  Mr.  Prawley  did  not  mind  this.  He  was 
willing  to  spend  all  the  time  necessary  going 
from  one  bit  of  work  to  another. 

There  was  one  advantage  in  having  the 
stable  and  everything  about  it  on  a  small 
scale  —  it  lessened  the  depth  of  the  manure 
pit.  The  very  first  night  we  put  Bob  in  his 
stall  we  heard  a  loud  noise  in  the  stable. 
Isobel  suggested  that  we  had  overfed  Bob, 
and  that  he  had  swelled  out  and  pressed  out 
the  sides  of  the  stable,  but  I  thought  it  more 
likely  that  the  weather-boarding  had  slipped 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   59 

loose.  I  had  seen  the  thoughtful  carpenters 
putting  that  weather- boarding  on  the  stable. 
But  Isobel  and  I  were  both  wrong.  Bob  had 
merely  dropped  into  the  manure  pit. 

I  was  glad  then  that  I  had  chosen  a  strong 
horse,  for  he  did  not  seem  to  mind  the  drop 
in  the  least.  He  stood  there  with  his  front 
feet  in  the  basement,  as  you  might  say,  and 
with  his  rear  feet  upstairs,  quite  as  if  that  was 
his  usual  way  of  standing.  After  that  he 
often  fell  into  the  manure  pit,  and  he  always 
took  it  good-naturedly.  He  got  so  he  ex 
pected  it,  after  awhile,  and  if  his  stall  floor 
did  not  drop  once  a  day,  he  became  restless 
and  took  no  interest  in  his  food.  Usually, 
during  the  day,  Bob  and  Mr.  Prawley  dropped 
into  the  basement  together  while  Mr.  Prawley 
was  currying  Bob,  but  at  night,  when  we 
heard  Bob  calling  us  in  the  homesick,  whinny 
ing  tone,  and  kicking  his  heels  against  the 
side  of  the  stable,  we  knew  what  he  wanted, 
and  to  prevent  him  kicking  the  stable  to 
ruins,  we  —  Isobel  and  I  —  would  go  out 


60   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

and  drop  him  into  the  basement  a  couple  of 
times.     Then   he   would   be   satisfied. 

There  was  but  one  thing  we  feared:  Bob 
might  become  so  fond  of  having  his  forefeet 
in  the  basement  and  his  rear  feet  upstairs, 
that  he  would  stand  no  other  way,  and  in 
course  of  time  his  front  legs  would  have  to 
lengthen  enough  to  let  his  head  reach  his 
manger,  or  his  neck  would  have  to  stretch. 
Either  would  give  him  the  general  appearance 
of  a  giraffe.  While  this  would  be  neat  for 
show  purposes,  it  would  attract  almost  too 
much  attention  in  a  family  horse.  I  have  no 
doubt  this  is  the  way  the  giraffe  acquired  its 
peculiar  construction,  but  we  were  able  to 
avoid  it,  for  we  awoke  one  night  when  Bob 
made  an  unaided  descent  into  the  manure 
pit,  and  when  we  went  to  aid  him  we  found  he 
had  descended  at  both  ends,  on  account  of 
the  economical  hinges  used  on  the  drop 
floor  of  the  stall  of  our  equine  palace.  Bob 
showed  in  every  way  that  he  had  enjoyed 
that  drop  more  than  any  drop  he  had  ever 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   61 

taken,  but  I  drew  the  line  there.  I  had  other 
things  to  do  more  important  than  conducting 
a  private  Coney  Island  for  a  horse.  If  Bob 
had  been  a  colt  I  might  not  have  been  so 
stern  about  it,  but  I  will  not  pamper  a  staid 
old  family  horse  by  operating  shoot-the-chutes 
and  loop-the-loops  for  him  at  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning. 

"Isobel,"  I  said,  "if  that  horse  is  to  con 
tinue  in  my  stable  you  may  tell  Mr.  Prawley 
that  it  is  necessary  for  his  health  that  he 
sleep  in  the  stable-loft  hereafter.  It  will  be 
good  exercise  for  him  to  get  up  at  midnight 
and  pull  Bob  out  of  the  manure  pit." 

"This  present  Mr.  Prawley  will  not  do  it," 
said  Isobel.  "He  has  a  wife  and  family 
at  East  Westcote,  and  he " 

"Very  well,"  I  said,  "then  get  another  Mr. 
Prawley!" 

Of  the  new  Mr.  Prawley  it  is  necessary 
to  speak  a  few  words. 


THE  NEW  MR.  PRAWLEY 


The  New  Mr.  Prawley 

THE  new  Mr.  Prawley  (by  this  time 
Isobel  and  I  had  ceased  to  speak  of 
him  as  living  in  our  attic  and  being 
a  family,  but  we  still  clung  to  the  name 
Prawley,  just  as  all  coloured  waiters  are 
called  "George")  was  a  most  unusual  man. 
For  a  month  before  we  hired  him  he  had 
been  trying  to  undermine  Isobel's  faith  in  the 
Mr.  Prawley  from  East  Westcote.  He  had 
called  at  the  house  two  or  three  times  a  week. 
At  first  he  merely  asked  for  the  job  of  man- 
of -all-work,  as  any  applicant  might  have 
asked  for  it,  but  he  soon  began  speaking  of 
our  Prawley  in  the  most  damaging  terms.  I 
believe  there  was  hardly  a  crime  or  misde 
meanour  that  he  did  not  lay  at  the  door  of 
our  Mr.  Prawley,  and  so  insistent  was  he  that 


66   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

Isobel  decided  the  two  men  must  be  deadly 
enemies,  and  that  this  fellow  was  set  on 
hounding  our  Mr.  Prawley  from  pillar  to 
post,  like  an  avenging  angel.  She  concluded 
that  this  man  must  have  been  frightfully 
wronged  by  our  Mr.  Prawley,  and  that  he 
had  sworn  to  dog  his  footsteps  to  the  grave. 

But  when  she  let  our  Mr.  Prawley  go  and 
hired  this  new  Mr.  Prawley,  his  interest 
in  his  predecessor  ceased  entirely.  In  place 
of  the  eager,  longing  look  his  face  had  worn, 
he  now  wore  a  thin,  satisfied  look,  which  I 
can  best  describe  as  that  of  a  hungry  jackal 
licking  his  chops.  Mr.  Prawley  —  his  name, 
he  told  us,  was  Duggs,  Alonzo  Duggs,  but 
we  called  him  Mr.  Prawley  —  was  a  tall, 
lean,  villanous-looking  fellow,  with  a  red, 
pointed  beard,  and  at  times  when  he  leaned 
on  the  division  fence  and  looked  into  Mr. 
Millington's  yard  I  could  see  his  fingers 
opening  and  shutting  like  the  claws  of  a  bird 
of  prey.  He  seemed  to  hate  Mr.  Millington 
with  a  deep  but  hidden  hatred,  and  often, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   67 

when  Mr.  Millington  was  preparing  to  take 
Isobel  and  me  to  Port  Lafayette,  Mr.  Prawley 
would  stand  and  grit  his  teeth  in  the  most 
unpleasant  manner.  When  I  spoke  to  Mr. 
Prawley  about  it  he  said,  "It  isn't  Mr. 
Millington.  It  is  the  automobile.  I  hate 
automobiles!" 

For  that  matter,  I  was  beginning  to  hate 
them  myself.  Many  a  pleasant  ride  behind 
Bob  did  I  have  to  sacrifice  because  Millington 
insisted  that  we  take  a  little  run  up  to  Port 
Lafayette  with  him  and  Mrs.  Millington. 
We  would  all  get  into  his  car,  and  Millington 
would  pull  his  cap  down  tight  and  begin  to 
frown  and  cock  his  head  on  one  side  to  hear 
signs  of  asthma  or  heart  throbs  or  whatever 
the  automobile  might  take  a  notion  to  have 
that  day.  And  off  we  would  go! 

I  tell  you,  it  was  exhilarating.  After  all 
there  is  nothing  like  motoring.  We  would 
roll  smoothly  down  the  street,  with  Millington 
frowning  like  a  pirate  all  the  way,  and  then 
suddenly  he  would  hear  the  noise  he  was 


08      ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

listening  for,  and  he  would  stop  frowning, 
and  jerk  a  lever  that  stopped  the  car,  and  hop 
out  with  a  satisfied  expression,  and  begin  to 
whistle,  and  open  the  car  in  eight  places,  and 
take  out  an  assorted  hardware  store,  and 
adhesive  tape,  and  blankets,  and  oil  cans, 
and  hatchets,  and  axes,  and  get  to  work  on 
the  car  as  happy  as  a  babe;  and  Mrs.  Milling- 
ton  and  Isobel  and  I  would  walk  home. 

The  sight  of  an  automobile  seemed  to 
madden  Mr.  Prawley,  but  otherwise  he  was 
the  meekest  of  men,  and  a  good  example  of 
this  was  the  manner  in  which  he  behaved 
at  our  Christmas  party. 

The  idea  of  having  a  good,  old-fashioned 
Christmas  house  party  for  our  city  friends 
was  IsobePs  idea,  but  the  moment  she  men 
tioned  it  I  adopted  it,  and  told  her  we  would 
have  Jimmy  Dunn  out.  Jimmy  Dunn  is 
one  of  those  rare  men  that  have  acquired  the 
suburb  an -visit  habit.  Usually  when  we  subur 
banites  invite  a  city  friend  to  spend  the 
week-end  with  us,  the  city  friend  balks. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   69 

Into  his  frank  eyes  comes  a  furtive,  shifty 
look  as  he  tries  to  think  of  an  adequate  lie 
to  serve  as  an  excuse  for  not  coming,  but 
Jimmy  was  taken  in  hand  when  he  was  young 
and  flexible,  and  he  has  become  meek  and 
docile  under  adversity,  as  I  might  say.  When 
any  one  invites  Jimmy  to  the  suburbs  he 
hardly  makes  a  struggle.  I  suppose  it  is 
because  of  the  gradual  weakening  of  his 
will  power. 

"Good!"  I  said.  "We  will  have  Jimmy 
Dunn  out  over  Christmas." 

"Oh!  Jimmy  Dunn!"  scoffed  Isobel  gently. 
"Of  course  we  will  have  Jimmy,  but  what 
I  mean  is  to  have  a  lot  of  people  — 
ten  at  least  —  and  we  must  have  at  least 
two  lovers,  because  they  will  look  so  well  in 
that  little  alcove  room  off  the  parlour,  and 
we  can  go  in  and  surprise  them  once  in  a 
while.  And  we  will  have  a  Santa  Claus,  and 
lots  of  holly  and  mistletoe,  and  a  tree  with 
all  sorts  of  foolish  presents  on  it  for  every 
one,  and " 


70   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

"Splendid!"  I  cried  less  enthusiastically, 
"Now  as  for  the  ten " 

"Well,"  said  Isobel,  "we  will  have  Jimmy 
Dunn-  -" 

"That  is  what  I  suggested,"  I  said  meekly. 

"We  will  have  Jimmy  Dunn,"  repeated 
Isobel,  "and  then  we  will  have  —  we  will 
have  —  I  wonder  who  we  could  get  to  come 
out.  Mary  might  come,  if  she  wasn't  in 
Europe." 

"That  would  make  two,"  I  said  cheerfully, 
"if  she  wasn't  in  Europe." 

"And  we  must  have  a  Yule-log! "  exclaimed 
Isobel.  "A  big,  blazing  Yule-log,  to  drink 
wassail  in  front  of,  and  to  sing  carols  around." 

I  told  Isobel  that,  as  nearly  as  I  could  judge, 
the  fireplaces  in  our  house  had  not  been  con 
structed  for  big,  blazing  Yule-logs.  I  re 
minded  her  that  when  I  had  spoken  to  the 
last  owner  about  having  a  grate  fire  he  had 
advised  us,  with  great  excitement,  not  to 
attempt  anything  so  rash.  He  had  said  that 
if  we  were  careful  we  might  have  a  gas- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   71 

log,  provided  it  was  a  small  one  and 
we  did  not  turn  on  the  gas  full  force,  and 
were  sure  our  insurance  was  placed  in  a  good, 
reliable  company.  He  had  said  that  if  we 
were  careful  about  those  few  things,  and 
kept  a  pail  of  water  on  the  roof  in  case  of 
emergency,  we  might  use  a  gas-log,  provided 
we  extinguished  it  as  soon  as  we  felt  any  heat 
coming  from  it.  I  had  not,  at  the  time, 
thought  of  mentioning  a  Yule-log  to  him,  but 
I  told  Isobel  now  that  perhaps  we  might  be 
able  to  find  a  small,  gas-burning  Yule-log 
at  the  gas  company's  office.  Isobel  scoffed 
at  the  idea.  She  said  we  might  as  well  put 
a  hot-water  bottle  in  the  grate  and  try  to 
be  merry  around  that. 

"I  don't  see,"  she  said,  "why  people  build 
chimneys  in  houses  if  it  is  going  to  be  dan 
gerous  to  have  a  fire  in  the  fireplace." 

"They  improve  the  ventilation,  I  suppose," 
I  said,  "and  then,  what  would  Santa  Glaus 
come  down  if  there  were  no  chimneys?" 

I  frequently  drop  these  half -joking  remarks 


72   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

into  my  conversations  with  Isobel,  and  not 
infrequently  she  smiles  at  them  in  a  far 
away  manner,  but  this  time  she  jumped  at 
the  remark  and  seized  it  with  both  hands. 

"John!"  she  cried,  "that  is  the  very,  very 
thing!  We  will  have  Santa  Claus  come  down 
the  chimney !  And  you  will  be  Santa  Claus ! " 

I  remained  calm.  Some  men  would  have 
immediately  remembered  they  had  prior 
engagements  for  Christmas.  Some  men 
would  have  instantly  declared  that  Santa 
Claus  was  an  unworthy  myth.  But  not  I! 
I  dropped  upon  my  hands  and  knees  and 
gazed  up  the  chimney.  When  I  withdrew 
my  head,  I  stood  up  and  grasped  Isobel's 
hand. 

"Fine!"  I  cried  with  well-simulated  en 
thusiasm.  "I'll  get  an  automobile  coat  from 
Millington,  and  sleigh  bells  and  a  mask  with 

a  long  white  beard ' 

"And  a  wig  with  long  white  hair,"  Isobel 
added  joyously. 

"And  while  our  guests  are  all  at  dinner, 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE      73 

I  cried,  "  I  will  steal  away  from  the  table " 

"John!"  exclaimed  Isobel.  "You  can't 
be  Santa  Claus!  Can't  you  see  that  it 
would  never,  never  do  for  you  to  leave  the 
table  when  your  guests  were  all  there?  You 
cannot  be  Santa  Claus,  John!" 

"Oh,  Isobel!" 

"No,"  she  said  firmly,  "y°u  cannot  be 
Santa  Claus.  Jimmy  Dunn  must  be  Santa 
Claus!" 

We  had  Jimmy  Dunn  out  the  next  Sunday 
and  broke  it  to  him  as  gently  as  we  could, 
and  explained  what  a  lot  of  fun  it  would  be 
for  him,  and  how  I  envied  him  the  chance. 
For  some  reason  he  did  not  become  wildly 
enthusiastic.  Instead  he  kneeled  down,  as 
I  had  done,  and  put  his  head  into  the  fireplace, 
in  his  usual  slow-going  manner,  and  looked 
up  to  where  the  small  oblong  of  blue  sky 
glowed  far,  far  above  him. 

When  he  withdrew  his  head,  he  began  some 
maundering  talk  about  an  uncle  of  his  in 
Baltimore  who  was  far  from  well,  and  who 


74   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

was  likely  to  be  extremely  dead  or  sick  or 
married  about  Christmas  time,  but  I  had  had 
too  much  experience  with  such  excuses  to 
pay  any  attention  to  him.  Isobel  and  I 
gathered  about  him  and  talked  as  fast  as 
we  could,  with  merry  little  laughs,  and  pres 
ently  Jimmy  seemed  more  resigned,  and  said 
he  supposed  if  he  had  to  be  Santa  Glaus  there 
was  no  way  out  of  it  if  he  wanted  to  keep  our 
friendship.  So  when  he  suggested  getting 
an  automobile  coat  to  wear,  we  hailed  it  as 
a  splendidly  original  idea,  and  patted  him 
on  the  back,  and  he  went  away  in  a  rather 
good  humour,  particularly  when  we  told  him 
he  need  not  come  all  the  way  down  from  the 
top  of  the  chimney,  but  could  get  into  the 
chimney  from  the  room  above  the  parlour. 
I  told  him  it  would  be  no  trouble  at  all  to 
take  out  the  iron  back  of  the  fireplace,  for 
it  was  almost  falling  out,  and  that  we  would 
have  a  ladder  in  the  chimney  for  him  to  come 
down. 
It  was  Mrs.  Rolfs  who  changed  our  plans. 


Isabel  and  I  gathered  about  him  and  talked  as  fast  as 
we  could" 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   75 

As  soon  as  she  heard  we  were  going  to  have 
a  Santa  Claus,  she  brought  over  a  magazine 
and  showed  Isobel  an  article  that  said  Santa 
Claus  was  lacking  in  originality,  and  that 
it  was  much  better  to  have  two  little  girls 
dressed  as  snow  fairies  distribute  the  presents 
from  the  tree,  and  Mrs.  Rolfs  said  she  was 
willing  to  lend  us  her  two  daughters,  if  we 
insisted.  So  we  had  to  insist. 

By  the  merest  oversight,  such  as  might 
occur  in  any  family  excited  over  the  prep 
arations  for  a  Christmas  party,  Isobel 
forgot  to  tell  Jimmy  Dunn  that  the  plan  was 
changed.  She  had  enough  to  think  of  with 
out  thinking  of  that,  for  she  found,  at  the 
last  moment,  that  she  could  not  pick  up  a 
regularly  constituted  pair  of  lovers  for  the 
little  alcove  room,  and  she  had  to  patch  up 
a  temporary  pair  of  lovers  by  inviting  Miss 
Seiler,  depending  on  Jimmy  Dunn  to  do  the 
best  he  could  as  the  other  half  of  the  pair. 
Of  course  Jimmy  Dunn  does  not  talk  much, 
and  it  was  apt  to  be  a  surprise  to  him  to  learn 


7C   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

he  was  scheduled  to  make  love,  but  Miss 
Seller  talks  enough  for  two.  When  Jimmy 
arrived,  about  four  o'clock  Christmas  eve, 
Isobel  let  him  know  he  was  to  be  a  lover,  but 
he  was  then  in  the  house,  and  it  was  too  late 
for  him  to  get  away. 

Isobel  had  done  nobly  in  securing  guests. 
Jimmy  and  Miss  Seiler  were  the  only  guests 
from  the  city,  but  she  had  captured  some 
suburbanites.  Ten  of  us  made  merry  at  the 
table —  that  is,  all  ten  except  Jimmy.  I  was 
positively  ashamed  of  Jimmy.  There  we  were 
at  the  culminating  hours  of  the  merry  Yule- 
tide,  gathered  at  the  festive  board  itself,  with 
a  bowl  of  first-rate  home-made  wassail  with  ice 
in  it,  and  Jimmy  was  expected  to  smile 
lovingly,  and  blush,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
and  what  did  he  do?  He  sat  as  mute  as  a 
clam,  and  started  uneasily  every  time  a  new 
course  appeared.  Before  dessert  arrived  he 
actually  arose  and  asked  to  be  excused. 

Now,  if  you  intended  making  a  fool  of  your 
self  in  a  friend's  house  by  impersonating 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE      77 

Santa  Claus  and  coming  down  a  chimney 
in  a  fur  automobile  coat,  and  nonsense  like 
that,  you  would  have  sense  enough  to  re 
member  which  room  upstairs  had  the  chimney 
that  led  down  into  the  parlour  fireplace, 
wouldn't  you?  So  I  blame  Jimmy  entirely, 
and  so  does  Isobel.  Jimmy  says  —  of  course 
he  had  to  have  some  excuse  --  that  we  might 
have  told  him  we  had  given  up  the  idea  of 
having  Santa  Claus  come  down  the  chimney, 
and  that  if  we  had  wanted  him  to  come  down 
any  particular  chimney  we  should  have  put 
a  label  on  it.  "Santa  Claus  enter  here," 
I  suppose. 

Jimmy  said  he  did  the  best  he  could;  that 
he  knew  he  did  not  have  much  time  between 
the  threatened  appearance  of  the  dessert 
and  the  time  he  was  supposed  to  issue  from 
the  fireplace  —  and  so  on !  He  was  quite 
excited  about  it.  Quite  bitter,  I  may  say. 

It  seeins  —  or  so  Jimmy  says  —  that,  when 
be  left  the  table,  Jimmy  went  upstairs  and 
got  into  his  automobile  coat  of  fur,  and  his 


78   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

felt  boots,  and  his  mask,  and  his  fur  gloves, 
and  his  long  white  hair,  and  his  stocking  hat, 
and  that  about  the  time  we  were  sipping  coffee 
he  was  ready.  He  says  it  was  no  joke  to  be 
done  up  in  all  those  things  in  an  overheated 
house,  and  he  thought  if  he  got  into  the 
chimney  he  might  be  in  a  cool  draught,  so 
he  poked  about  until  he  found  a  fireplace  and 
backed  carefully  into  it,  and  pawed  with  his 
left  foot  for  the  top  rung  of  the  ladder.  That 
was  about  the  time  we  arose  from  the  table 
with  merry  laughs,  as  nearly  as  Isobel  and  I 
can  judge. 

No  one  missed  Jimmy,  except  Miss  Seller, 
and  she  was  so  unused  to  being  made  love  to 
as  Jimmy  made  love  that  she  thought  nothing 
of  a  temporary  absence.  It  was  not  until 
I  took  Jimmy's  present  from  the  tree  and  sent 
one  of  the  Rolfs  fairies  to  hand  it  to  Jimmy 
that  we  realized  he  was  not  in  the  parlour, 
and  then  Isobel  and  I  both  felt  hurt  to  think 
that  Jimmy  had  selfishly  withdrawn  from 
among  us  when  we  had  gone  to  all  the  trouble 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   79 

of  getting  the  other  half  of  a  pair  of  lovers 
especially  on  his  account.  It  was  not  fair 
to  Miss  Seiler,  and  I  told  Jimmy  so  the  next 
time  I  saw  him. 

When  the  Rolfs  fairy  had  looked  in  all 
the  rooms,  upstairs  and  down,  and  had  not 
found  Jimmy,  she  came  back  and  told  Isobel, 
and  that  was  when  Isobel  remembered  she 
had  forgotten  to  tell  Jimmy  we  had  given 
up  the  idea  of  having  a  Santa  Glaus.  Isobel 
looked  up  the  parlour  chimney,  but  he  was 
not  there,  and  then  we  all  started  merrily 
looking  up  chimneys.  We  found  Santa  Claus 
up  the  library  chimney  almost  immediately. 
He  was  still  kicking,  but  not  with  much  vim 
—  more  like  a  man  that  is  kicking  because 
he  has  nothing  else  to  do  than  like  a  man 
that  enjoys  it. 

I  think  we  must  have  been  gathering  around 
the  Christmas  tree  to  the  cheery  music  of 
a  carol  when  Santa  Claus  put  his  foot  on  a 
loose  brick  in  the  fireplace  and  slipped.  I 
claim  that  if  Santa  Claus  had  instantly  thrown 


80   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

his  body  forward  he  would  have  been  safe 
enough,  but  Santa  Glaus  says  he  did  not 
have  time  —  that  he  slid  down  the  chimney 
immediately,  as  far  as  his  arms  would  let 
him.  He  says  that  when  he  caught  the  edge 
of  the  hearth  with  his  hands  he  did  yell; 
that  he  yelled  as  loud  as  any  man  could  who 
was  wrapped  in  a  fur  coat  and  had  his  mouth 
full  of  white  horse-hair  whiskers  and  his 
face  covered  by  a  mask.  I  say  that  proves 
he  yelled  just  as  we  were  singing  the  carol. 
He  should  have  yelled  a  moment  sooner,  or 
should  have  waited  half  an  hour,  until  the 
noise  in  the  parlour  abated.  Santa  Glaus 
says  he  tried  to  stay  there  half  an  hour, 
but  the  two  bricks  he  had  grasped  did  not 
want  to  wait.  They  wanted  to  hurry  down 
the  chimney  without  further  delay,  and  they 
had  their  own  wray  about  it.  So  Santa 
Glaus  went  on  down  with  them. 

I  tell  Santa  Glaus  that  even  if  we  were  sing 
ing  carols  we  would  have  heard  him  if  he  had 
fallen  to  the  library  floor  with  a  bump,  and 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   81 

that  it  was  his  fault  if  he  did  not  fall  heavily, 
but  he  blames  the  architect.  He  says  that 
if  the  chimney  had  been  built  large  enough 
he  would  have  done  his  part  and  would  have 
fallen  hard,  but  that  when  he  reached  the 
narrow  part  of  the  chimney  he  wedged  there. 
I  said  that  was  the  fault  of  wearing  an  auto 
mobile  coat  that  padded  him  out  so  he  could 
not  fall  through  an  ordinary  chimney,  and 
I  asked  him  if  he  thought  any  man  who  meant 
to  fall  down  chimneys  had  ever  before  put 
on  an  automobile  coat  to  fall  in. 

Certainly  I,  the  host,  could  not  be  expected 
to  stop  the  laughter  and  merriment  when  I 
was  taking  presents  from  the  tree,  and  bid 
every  one  be  silent  and  listen  for  the  muffled 
tones  of  a  Santa  Claus  in  the  library  chimney. 
I  do  not  say  Santa  Claus  did  not  yell  as  loudly 
as  he  could.  Doubtless  he  did.  And  I 
do  not  say  he  did  not  try  to  get  out  of  the 
chimney.  He  says  he  did,  but  that  with 
his  arms  crowded  above  his  head  he  could 
do  nothing  but  reach.  He  says  he  also  kicked, 


82  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 
but  there  was  nothing  to  kick.  He  says  the 
most  fruitless  task  in  the  world  is  to  kick 
when  wedged  in  a  chimney  with  a  whole  fur 
automobile  coat  crowded  up  under  the  arms 
and  nothing  below  to  kick  but  air. 

Luckily  I  was  able  to  send  for  Mr.  Rolfs 
and  Mr.  Millington,  whose  advice  is  always 
valuable,  since  when  I  know  what  they  advise 
I  know  what  not  to  do.  Mr.  Rolfs  rushed 
in  and  was  of  the  opinion  that  we  must  get 
a  chisel  and  chisel  a  hole  in  the  library  wall 
as  near  as  possible  to  where  Santa  Glaus  was 
reposing,  but  when  Mr.  Millington  arrived, 
breathless,  he  said  this  would  be  simple 
murder,  for  as  likely  as  not  the  chisel  would 
enter  between  two  bricks  and  perforate 
Santa  Glaus  beyond  repair.  Mr.  Millington 
said  the  thingrto  do  was  to  get  a  clothesline 
and  attach  it  to  Santa  Claus's  feet  and  pull 
him  down.  He  said  it  was  logical  to  pull 
him  downward,  because  we  would  then  be 
aided  by  the  law  of  gravitation.  Mr.  Rolfs 
said  this  was  nonsense,  and  that  it  would 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   83 

only  wedge  Santa  Claus  in  the  chimney  more 
tightly,  and  that  we  would,  in  all  probability, 
pull  him  in  two,  or  at  least  stretch  him  out 
so  long  that  he  would  never  be  very  useful 
again. 

Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr.  Millington  became  quite 
heated  in  their  argument.  Mr.  Rolfs  said 
that  if  a  rope  was  to  be  used  it  should  be  used 
to  pull  Santa  Claus  upward,  but  they  com 
promised  by  agreeing  to  cut  the  clothesline  in 
two,  choose  up  sides,  and  let  one  side  pull 
Santa  Claus  upward,  while  the  other  pulled 
him  downward.  Then  Santa  Claus  would 
move  in  the  direction  of  least  resistance. 
So  they  got  the  clothesline,  and  Mr.  Rolfs 
was  about  to  cut  it,  when  Miss  Seiler 
screamed. 

I  was  doubly  glad  she  screamed  just  at 
that  juncture,  for  we  had  all  become  so  in 
terested  in  the  Rolfs-Millington  controversy 
that  we  had  forgotten  how  perishable  a  human 
being  is,  and,  with  two  such  stubborn  men 
as  Rolfs  and  Millington  urging  us  on,  we  might 


84  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 
have  pulled  Santa  Claus  in  two  while  our 
sporting  instincts  were  aroused  by  the  tug- 
of-war.  That  was  one  reason  I  was  glad 
Miss  Seiler  screamed.  The  other  reason 
was  that  it  showed  she  was  doing  her  share 
of  representing  one  half  of  a  pair  of  lovers. 
She  had  done  rather  poorly  up  to  that  time, 
but  she  saw  that  when  her  lover  was  about 
to  be  pulled  asunder  was  the  time  to  scream, 
if  she  was  ever  going  to  scream,  so  she 
screamed.  So  we  all  went  upstairs  and  let 
the  rope  down  to  Santa  Claus,  and  the  entire 
merry  Christmas  house  party  pulled,  and 
after  we  had  jerked  a  few  times  up  came  Santa 
Claus  with  a  sudden  bump. 

At  that  moment  Miss  Seiler  screamed  again, 
and  when  we  turned  we  saw  the  reason,  for 
the  glass  door  to  the  little  upper  porch  had 
opened  and  Jimmy  Dunn  was  entering  the 
room. 

We  laid  Santa  Claus  on  the  floor  and  let 
him  kick,  for  he  seemed  to  have  acquired  the 
habit,  but  after  awhile  he  slowed  down  and 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   85 

only  jerked  his  legs  spasmodically.  Mr.  Mil- 
lington  explained  that  it  was  only  the  reflex 
action  of  the  muscles,  and  that  probably  Santa 
Claus  would  kick  like  that  for  several  months, 
whenever  he  lay  down.  He  said  if  we  had 
followed  his  advice  and  pulled  downward 
we  would  have  yanked  all  the  reflex  action 
out  of  the  legs. 

As  soon  as  I  pulled  the  mask  from  his  face 
I  recognized  Mr.  Prawley.  Jimmy  slipped 
out  of  the  room  and  walked  all  the  way  it 
the  station,  and  Miss  Seiler  stood  around,  not 
knowing  whether  she  was  to  be  half  of  a  pair 
of  lovers  with  Mr.  Prawley  as  the  other  half, 
or  stop  being  a  lover,  or  weep  because  Jimmy 
had  gone.  I  felt  sorry  for  her,  because  Mr. 
Prawley  was  not  a  good  specimen  of  a  Christ 
mas  lover  just  then.  When  we  stood  him 
on  his  feet  his  trousers  were  still  pushed  up 
around  his  knees,  and  his  fur  coat  was  around 
his  neck.  He  was  so  weak  we  had  to  hold 
him  up. 

"What  I  want  to  know,"  said  Mr.  Milling- 


86   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

ton,  "is  what  you  were  doing  in  that  chimney 
in  my  automobile  coat?" 

"Doing?"  said  Mr.  Prawley.  "Why,  I'm 
jolly  old  Santa  Claus.  I  come  down 
chimneys." 

"Well,  my  advice  to  you,  Mr.  Prawley," 
I  said,  "is  to  stop  it.  You  don't  do  it  at 
all  right.  Don't  try  it  again.  I've  had 
enough  of  this  jolly  old  Santa  Claus  business. 
Who  told  you  to  do  it?" 

"The  little  gentleman  with  the  scared 
look,"  said  Mr.  Prawley,  looking  around  for 
Jimmy  Dunn.  "He  isn't  here." 

"And  what  did  he  give  you  for  doing  it?" 
I  asked. 

"Nothing!"  said  Mr.  Prawley.  "He 
just-  -" 

"Just  what?"  I  asked  when  he  hesitated. 

Mr.  Prawley  drew  me  to  one  side  and 
whispered. 

"He  said  I  might  wear  an  automobile 
coat.  And  I  couldn't  resist  the  temptation," 
said  Mr.  Prawley.  "I've  been  hankering 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   87 

to  get  inside  an  automobile  coat  for  weeks 
and  weeks,  sir.  I  couldn't  resist." 

Of  course,  I  could  make  nothing  of  this 
at  the  time,  so  I  merely  said  a  few  words  of 
good  advice,  and  ordered  Mr.  Prawley  never 
to  try  the  Santa  Glaus  impersonation  again. 

"Of  course,  I'm  only  an  amateur  at  it," 
said  Mr.  Prawley  apologetically,  and  then 
he  brightened,  "but  I  made  good  speed  as 
far  as  I  got.  I'll  bet  I  broke  the  world's 
speed  record  for  jolly  old  Santa  Clauses! " 


THE  SPECKLED  HEN 


VI 

The  Speckled  Hen 

IN  ORDER  to  relieve  the  reader's  suspense, 
I  may  as  well  say  here  that  Jimmy  Dunn 
did  not  marry  Miss  Seiler.     It  is  too 
bad  to  have  to  sacrifice  what  promised  to  be 
a  first-class  love  interest,  but  the  truth  is 
that  there  is  less  chance  of  Jimmy  ever  marry 
ing  Miss  Seiler  than  there  seemed  likelihood 
of  Isobel  and  me  reaching  Port  Lafayette  in 
Mr.  Millington's  automobile. 

Usually  when  we  started  for  Port  Lafay 
ette,  my  wife  and  Millington's  wife  would 
dress  for  the  matinee  or  church,  or  wherever 
they  intended  going  that  day,  and  when 
Millington  heard  the  knocking  sound  in  his 
engine  and  began  to  get  out  his  tools,  they 
would  excuse  themselves  politely  and  go 
and  spend  the  day  in  the  city.  They  usually 

01 


92   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

returned  in  time  to  get  into  the  car  and  ride 
back  to  the  garage.  But  I  stuck  to  Milling- 
ton.  You  never  can  tell  when  a  car  of  that 
kind  will  be  ready  to  start  up,  and  I  was 
really  very  anxious  to  go  to  Port  Lafayette. 
I  spent  some  very  delightful  days  with  Mil- 
lington  that  way,  for  when  he  was  mending 
his  car  he  was  always  in  a  charming  humour, 
and  as  gay  and  playful  as  a  kitten. 

I  began  to  fear  that  one,  if  not  the  only, 
reason  why  Mr.  Millington  was  always  in 
such  a  good  humour  when  his  car  was  in  a 
bad  one,  was  because  I  had  told  him  that  I 
had  heard  of  a  man  in  Port  Lafayette  who 
had  a  fine  farm  of  White  Wyandotte  chickens, 
and  that  I  thought  I  might  buy  some  for 
my  place.  Millington  does  not  believe  in 
Wyandottes.  He  is  all  for  Orpingtons. 

It  is  remarkable  how  many  wives  object 
to  chickens.  I  do  not  blame  Isobel  for  not 
liking  chickens,  for  she  was  born  in  a  flat, 
and  I  am  willing  to  make  allowances  for  her 
lack  of  education;  but  why  Mrs.  Rolfs  and 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   93 

Mrs.  Millington  should  dislike  chickens  was 
beyond  my  comprehension.  Both  were  born 
in  the  suburbs,  and  grew  up  in  a  real  chickenish 
atmosphere,  and  still  they  do  not  keep 
chickens.  I  must  say,  however,  that  Mr. 
Rolfs  and  Mr.  Millington  are  persons  of 
greater  intelligence.  Almost  the  first  day 
I  moved  into  the  suburb  of  Westcote,  Mr. 
Rolfs  leaned  over  the  division  fence  and 
complimented  me  on  my  foresight  in  pur 
chasing  such  an  admirable  place  on  which  to 
raise  chickens.  He  told  me  that  if  I  needed 
any  advice  about  chickens  he  would  be  glad 
to  supply  me  with  all  I  wished,  just  as  a 
neighbourly  matter.  He  seemed  to  take  it 
as  a  matter  of  course  that  I  would  arrange 
for  a  lot  of  chickens  as  soon  as  I  was  fairly 
settled  on  the  place,  and  in  this  he  was 
seconded  by  Mr.  Millington. 

When  Mr.  Millington  saw  Mr.  Rolfs  talk 
ing  to  me,  he  came  right  over  and  said  that, 
while  he  hated  to  boast,  he  had  studied  chick 
ens  from  A  to  Gizzard,  and  that  when  I  was 


94   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

ready  to  get  my  chickens  he  could  give  me 
some  suggestions  that  would  be  simply  in 
valuable.  We  talked  the  chicken  matter 
over  very  thoroughly,  and  I  soon  saw  that 
they  were  men  of  knowledge  and  deep  ex 
perience  in  chicken  matters,  and  when  they 
had  decided  that  I  would  keep  chickens,  and 
what  kind  of  chickens,  and  where  I  should 
build  the  coop,  and  what  kind  of  coop  I 
should  build,  we  all  shook  hands  warmly, 
and  I  went  around  front  to  tell  Isobel.  I  was 
very  enthusiastic  about  chickens  when  I  went. 
After  I  had  interviewed  Isobel  for  three 
minutes  I  learned,  definitely,  that  I  was  not 
going  to  keep  chickens.  There  were  a  great 
many  things  Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr.  Millington 
had  not  said  about  chickens,  and  those  were 
the  very  things  Isobel  told  me,  and  they  were 
all  reasons  for  not  having  chickens  on  the 
place  at  all.  She  also  threw  in  an  opinion 
of  Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr.  Millington.  It  seemed 
that  they  were  two  villains  of  the  most 
depraved  sort,  who  did  not  dare  keep  chickens 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   95 

themselves  because  they  were  afraid  of  their 
wives,  and  who  were  trying  to  steal  a  vica 
rious  joy  by  bossing  my  chickens  when  I  got 
them,  but  that  I  was  not  going  to  get  any. 
Absolutely ! 

Of  course,  I  always  do  what  Isobel  tells 
me,  and  when  she  told  me  I  wTas  not  going 
to  have  chickens,  I  obeyed.  But  I  merely 
told  Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr.  Millington  when  they 
came  over  the  next  day,  that  I  had  been 
thinking  the  matter  over  and  that  I  was 
doubtful  whether  the  south  corner  or  the 
north  corner  would  be  the  best  place  for  the 
coop.  So  we  three  went  and  looked  over  the 
ground  again.  Both  favoured  the  north 
corner,  so  I  hung  back  and  seemed  undecided 
and  doubtful,  and  finally,  in  a  week  or  two, 
they  agreed  with  me. 

I  never  saw  two  men  so  anxious  to  have  a 
neighbour  keep  chickens.  They  were  willing 
to  let  me  have  almost  everything  my  own  way. 
It  was  quite  a  strain  on  me,  for  I  had  to  think 
of  a  new  objection  to  their  plans  every  day 


96   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

or  so,  but  I  could  see  the  suspense  was  harder 
on  Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr.  Millington.  Every 
morning  they  came  and  hung  over  my  fence 
wistfully,  and  every  evening  they  came  over 
.and  talked  chickens,  and  on  the  train  to  town 
they  spoke  freely  of  the  chickens  they  were 
going  to  keep.  In  a  month  they  were  talk 
ing  of  the  chickens  they  were  keeping,  and 
bragging  about  them;  and  old-seasoned 
chicken  raisers  used  to  hunt  them  up  and  sit 
with  them  and  ask  for  information  on  knotty 
points. 

Toward  fall  Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr.  Millington 
were  beginning  to  talk  about  the  large  sums 
of  money  they  were  making  out  of  their 
chickens,  and  promising  settings  of  their 
White  Orpington  and  White  Wyandotte  eggs 
to  the  commuters,  and  they  began  to  be 
really  annoying.  They  would  stand  at  the 
fence,  hollow-eyed  and  hungry -looking, 
staring  into  my  yard,  and  when  I  passed  they 
would  make  slighting  remarks  about  me  and 
the  lack  of  decision  in  my  character.  They 


So  we  three  went  and  looked  over  the  ground  again" 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   97 

said  sneeringly  that  they  did  not  believe  I 
would  ever  get  any  chickens. 

"You,  Millington,  and  you,  Rolfs,"  I  said 
firmly,  "should  remember  one  thing:  I  am 
the  man  who  is  getting  these  chickens,  and 
the  main  thing  in  raising  chickens  is  to  start 
right.  I  do  not  want  to  go  into  this  thing 
hastily  and  then  regret  it  all  my  life.  If  you 
do  not  like  my  way,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to 
build  coops  yourselves  and  buy  chickens 
and  raise  them  yourselves.  Be  patient.  Every 
day  I  am  learning  more  about  chickens  from 
your  conversations  on  the  train,  and  when  I 
do  get  my  chickens  you  will  find  I  have 
profited  by  your  suggestions." 

Millington  and  Rolfs  had  to  be  satisfied 
with  that,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned,  for 
although  I  spoke  to  Isobel  frequently  on  the 
subject  of  chickens  she  had  not  changed.  I 
silenced  Millington  by  telling  him  I  would 
have  chickens  long  before  he  ever  succeeded 
in  taking  Isobel  and  me  to  Port  Lafayette 
in  his  automobile. 


98   ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

46  If  that  is  all  you  are  waiting  for,"  he  said, 
"we  will  start  to-morrow,"  and  so  we  did; 
but  that  was  all. 

Millington  and  Rolfs,  during  the  winter, 
worked  off  some  of  their  surplus  chicken 
energy  writing  letters  to  the  poultry  periodi 
cals.  My  friends  in  town  began  asking  me  why 
I  did  not  keep  chickens  when  I  lived  near  to 
such  chicken  experts  as  Rolfs  and  Millington, 
by  whose  experience  I  could  profit;  but  the 
worst  came  one  day  on  the  train  when  Rolfs 
actually  had  the  assurance  to  offer  me  a  set 
ting  of  his  White  Wyandotte  eggs.  I  blame 
Rolfs  and  Millington  for  acting  in  this  way. 
No  man  should  brag  about  chickens  he  has 
not;  I  only  bragged  about  those  I  meant  to  get. 

By  the  time  spring  put  forth  her  tender 
leaves,  Rolfs  and  Millington  were  so  deep 
in  their  imaginary  chicken  business  that  they 
talked  nothing  else,  and  all  their  spare  time 
was  spent  in  my  yard,  urging  me  to  hurry 
a  little  and  get  the  chickens. 

"I  wish  you  would  hurry  a  bit  in  getting 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE   99 

those  chickens  of  mine,"  Millington  would 
say;  "I  ought  to  have  at  least  ten  hens  sitting 
by  this  time."  And  then  Rolfs  would  say: 
"He  is  right  about  that.  Unless  you  get 
my  White  Wyandottes  soon,  the  chicks  will 
not  be  hatched  out  before  cold  weather.  I 
ought  to  have  the  hens  on  the  eggs  now." 

Occasionally  I  mentioned  chickens  in  an 
off-hand  way  to  Isobel,  but  she  had  not 
changed  her  views. 

"Now,  Isobel,"  I  would  say,  "about 
chickens  - 

At  the  word  "chickens"  Isobel  would  look 
at  me  reproachfully,  and  I  would  end  meekly : 

"About  chickens,  as  I  was  saying.  Don't 
you  think  we  could  have  a  pair  of  broilers 
to-morrow?" 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  happened  so  often 
that  I  began  to  hate  the  sight  of  a  broiled 
chicken,  and  was  forced  to  mention  roast 
chicken  once  in  a  while.  It  was  after  one 
of  these  times  that  the  event  happened  that 
stirred  all  Westcote. 


100  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

I  had  reached  a  point  where  I  dodged 
Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr.  Millington  when  I  saw 
them,  in  order  to  avoid  their  insistent  clamour 
for  chickens,  when  one  evening  Isobel  met 
me  at  the  door  with  a  smile. 

"John!"  she  cried.  "What  do  you  think! 
Our  chicken  laid  an  egg!" 

"Chicken?"  I  asked  anxiously.  "Did  you 
say  chicken?" 

"And  I  am  going  to  give  you  the  egg  for 
dinner,"  cried  Isobel  joyfully.  "Just  think, 
John !  Our  own  egg,  laid  by  our  own  chicken ! 
Do  you  want  it  fried,  or  boiled,  or  scrambled?  " 

"Isobel,"  I  demanded,  "what  is  the  mean 
ing  of  all  this?" 

"I  just  could  not  kill  the  hen,"  Isobel  ran 
on,  "after  it  had  been  so  —  so  friendly. 
Could  I?  I  felt  as  if  I  would  be  killing  one  of 
the  family." 

"People  do  get  to  feeling  that  way  about 
chickens  when  they  keep  them,"  I  said  in 
sinuatingly.  "Why,  Isobel,  I  have  known 
wives  to  love  chickens  so  warmly  —  wives 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  101 

that  had  never  cared  £  snap  for,  chickens 
before  —  wives  thai;  hate$  \claickens  —  and 
they  grew  to  love  chickens  so  well  that  as 
soon  as  the  coop  was  made  —  of  course  it 
was  a  nice,  clean,  airy  coop,  Isobel  —  and 
the  dear  little  fluffy  chicks  began  to  peep 
about—" 

Isobel  stiffened. 

"John,"  she  said  finally  "you  are  not  going 
to  keep  chickens!" 

"  Certainly  not!"  I  agreed  hastily. 

"But  of  course  we  can't  kill  Spotty,"  said 
Isobel.  "I  call  her  Spotty  because  that  seems 
such  a  perfect  name  for  her.  I  telephoned 
for  a  roaster  this  morning,  because  you 
suggested  having  a  roaster  for  dinner,  John, 
and  when  the  roaster  came  it  was  a  live 
chicken !  Imagine !' ' 

"Horrors!"  I  exclaimed. 

"I  should  think  so!"  agreed  Isobel.  "So 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  'phone  the  grocer 
to  come  and  get  the  live  roaster,  but  when  I 
'phoned,  his  grandmother  was  much  worse, 


102  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

and  the  store  .was  closed  until  she  got  better 
-  or.  worse '-tr  and  I  couldn't  bear  to  see  the 
poor  thing  in  the  basket  with  its  legs  tied  all 
that  time,  for  there  is  no  telling  how  long  an 
old  person  like  a  grandmother  will  remain 
in  the  same  condition,  so  I  loosened  the  roaster 
in  the  cellar,  and  at  a  quarter  past  four  I  heard 
it  cluck.  It  had  laid  an  egg.  I  knew  that 
the  moment  I  heard  it  cluck." 

"Isobel,"  I  said,  "you  were  born  to  be  the 
wife  of  a  chicken  fancier!  You  shall  eat  that 
egg!" 

"No,  John,"  she  said,  "you  shall  eat  it. 
It  is  our  first  real  egg,  laid  by  our  dear  little 
Spotty,  and  you  shall  eat  it." 

"No,  Isobel,"  I  began,  and  then,  as  I  saw 
how  determined  she  was,  I  compromised. 
"Let  us  have  the  egg  scrambled,"  I  said, 
"and  each  of  us  eat  a  part." 

"Very  well,"  said  Isobel,  "if  you  will  prom 
ise  not  to  kill  Spotty.  We  will  keep  her  for 
ever  and  forever!" 

I  agreed.     Isobel  kissed  me  for  that. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  103 

After  we  had  eaten  the  egg  —  and  both 
Isobel  and  I  agreed  that  it  was  really  a  super 
ior  egg  —  we  went  down  cellar  and  looked 
at  Spotty.  I  should  say  she  was  a  very  intel 
ligent-looking  hen,  but  homely.  There  was 
nothing  flashy  about  her.  She  was  the  kind 
of  hen  a  man  might  enter  in  the  Sweepstakes 
class,  and  not  get  a  prize,  and  then  enter 
in  the  Consolation  class  and  not  get  a  prize, 
and  then  enter  for  the  Booby  prize  and  still 
be  outclassed,  and  then  enter  in  the  Plain  Old 
Barnyard  Fowl  class  and  not  get  within  ten 
miles  of  a  prize,  and  then  be  taken  to  the 
butcher  as  a  Boarding  House  Broiler,  and  be  re 
fused  on  account  of  age,  tough  looks,  and 
emaciation. 

She  was  no  pampered  darling  of  the  hen 
house,  but  a  plain  old  Survival-of-the-Fittest 
Squawker;  the  kind  of  hen  that  along  about 
the  first  of  May  begins  clucking  in  a  vexed 
tone  of  voice,  flies  over  the  top  of  a  two-story 
barn,  and  wanders  off  somewhere  into  the 
tall  grass  back  of  the  cow  pasture,  to 


104  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

appear  some  weeks  later  with  twelve  chicks 
of  twelve  assorted  patterns,  ranging  from 
Shanghai-bantam  to  plain  yellow  nondes 
cript.  She  was  a  good,  durable  hen  of  the 
old  school,  with  a  wary,  startled  eye,  an  extra 
loud  squawk,  and  a  brain  the  size  of  a  grain 
of  salt. 

Spotty  was  the  sort  of  hen  that  could  go 
right  along  day  after  day  without  steam  heat 
or  elevators  in  her  coop  and  manage  to  make 
a  living.  As  soon  as  I  saw  her,  my  heart 
swelled  with  pride,  for  I  knew  I  had  secured 
a  very  rare  variety  of  hen.  Since  every  man 
that  can  tell  a  chicken  from  an  ostrich  — 
and  some  that  can't  —  has  become  a  chicken 
fancier,  the  aristocratic,  raised-by-hand, 
pedigree  fowl  has  become  as  common  as  dirt, 
and  it  is  indeed  difficult  to  secure  a  genuine 
mongrel  hen.  I  was  elated.  As  nearly  as 
I  could  judge  by  first  appearances,  I  was  the 
owner  of  one  of  the  most  mongrel  hens  that 
ever  laid  a  plain,  omelette-quality  egg. 

When  I  had  made  a  coop  by  nailing  a  few 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  105 

slats  across  the  front  of  a  soap  box,  and  had 
nailed  Spotty  in,  I  took  the  coop  under  my 
arm  and  went  into  the  back  yard.  Mr. 
Millington  was  there,  and  Mr.  Rolfs  was 
there,  and  they  were  arguing  angrily  about 
the  respective  merits  of  White  Wyandottes 
and  White  Orpingtons,  but  when  they  saw 
me  they  uttered  two  loud  cries  of  joy  and  ran 
to  meet  me.  I  tried  to  cling  to  the  coop, 
but  they  wrested  it  from  me  and  together 
carried  it  in  triumph  to  the  north  corner  and 
set  it  on  the  grass.  Mr.  Millington  pulled 
his  compass  from  his  pocket  and  set  the  coop 
exactly  as  advised  by  "The  Complete  Poultry 
Guide,"  with  the  bars  facing  the  morning 
sun,  and  Rolfs  hurried  into  the  back  lot  and 
hunted  up  a  piece  of  bone,  which  he  crushed 
with  a  brick  and  placed  in  the  coop,  as  ad 
vised  by  "The  Gentleman  Poultry  Fancier." 
He  told  us  that  a  supply  of  bone  was  most 
necessary  if  he  expected  his  hen  to  lay  eggs, 
and  that  he  knew  this  hen  of  his  was  going 
to  be  a  great  layer.  He  said  he  had  given 


106  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

the  egg  question  years  of  study,  and  that  he 
could  tell  a  good  egger  when  he  saw  one. 

Millington  told  me  his  coop  was  not  as 
he  had  meant  it  to  be,  but  said  it  would  do 
until  he  could  get  one  built  according  to 
scientific  poultry  principles.  He  pointed  out 
that  the  poultry  coop  should  be  heated  by 
steam,  and  showed  me  that  there  was  no  room 
in  the  soap  box  for  a  steam  heating  plant. 
He  said  he  would  not  trust  his  flock  of  chick 
ens  through  the  winter  unless  there  was  steam 
heating  installed. 

Then  Rolfs  and  Millington  said  they 
guessed  the  first  thing  to  do,  as  it  was  so 
late  in  the  season,  was  to  set  their  hen  im 
mediately,  and  as  it  would  probably  take 
Spotty  thirteen  days  to  lay  enough  eggs,  they 
told  me  to  run  down  to  the  delicatessen  store 
and  buy  thirteen  eggs,  while  they  arranged  a 
scientific  nest  in  the  corner  of  their  coop,  for 
sitting  purposes.  When  I  suggested  that 
perhaps  Spotty  was  not  ready  to  set,  they 
laughed  at  me.  They  said  they  could  see 


Millington  told  me  his  Cobp  waj'iiot  as'he  had  meant 
it  to  be  " 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  107 

I  would  never  make  a  prosperous  chicken 
farmer  if  I  put  off  until  to-morrow  what  the 
hen  ought  to  do  to-day,  and  that  a  hen  that 
ought  to  set,  and  would  not  set,  must  be  made 
to  set.  Millington  said  that  he  did  not  mind 
if  Spotty  wanted  to  lay.  If  she  felt  so,  she 
could  go  ahead  and  lay  while  she  was  taking 
her  little  rests  between  sets.  He  said  that 
in  that  way  she  would  be  doubly  useful  and 
that,  judging  by  appearances,  she  was  the 
kind  of  hen  that  could  do  two  or  three  things 
at  the  same  time. 

Mr.  Prawley,  when  he  saw  we  were  going 
to  keep  our  hen,  came  out  and  spoke  to  Mr. 
Millington,  Mr.  Rolfs,  and  me.  He  said  he 
had  an  aversion  to  hens,  but  that  if  I  insisted 
he  would  devote  some  of  his  time  to  the  hen, 
but  Mr.  Millington,  Mr.  Rolfs,  and  I  assured 
him  we  would  not  need  his  help.  We  felt 
that  the  three  of  us,  with  occasional  aid  from 
Isobel,  could  manage  that  hen. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Millington  and  Mr. 
Rolfs  were  so  swelled  with  pride  that  they 


108  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

would  not  speak  to  me  on  the  train.  Mil- 
lington  did  not  ask  me,  that  entire  day,  to 
take  a  little  run  up  to  Port  Lafayette  in  his 
automobile.  I  heard  him  tell  one  man 
on  the  train  to  town  that  he  had  just  set  his 
eighteen  prize  White  Orpingtons,  and  I  heard 
Rolfs  tell  another  man,  at  the  same  time, 
about  a  coop  he  had  just  had  made  for  his 
White  Wyandottes.  He  drew  a  sketch  of 
it  on  the  back  of  an  envelope,  showing  the 
location  of  the  heating  plant,  the  location 
of  the  gasoline  brooders,  and  the  battery  of 
eight  electric  incubators.  He  said  he  saw 
but  one  mistake  he  had  made,  which  was  that 
he  had  had  a  gravel  roof  put  on.  It  should 
have  been  slate.  He  was  afraid  the  hens 
would  fly  up  onto  the  roof  and  eat  the  gravel 
for  digestive  purposes,  and  if  a  lot  of  tarry 
gravel  got  in  their  craws  and  stuck  together 
in  a  lump,  his  hens  would  suffer  from  indiges 
tion.  But  he  said  he  meant  to  have  the 
gravel  roof  taken  off  at  once,  regardless  of 
cost,  but  he  had  not  quite  decided  on  a  slate 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  109 

roof.  One  of  the  slates  might  become  loos 
ened  and  fall  and  kill  one  of  his  prize  White 
Wyandottes,  which  he  held  at  seventy-five 
dollars  each.  If  he  could  avoid  the  tar  trouble, 
Rolfs  said,  he  ought  to  have  twelve  hundred 
laying  hens  by  the  end  of  the  summer,  besides 
the  broilers  he  would  sell.  He  said  he  was 
going  straight  to  a  distinguished  chemist 
when  he  reached  town  to  learn  if  there  was 
any  dissolvent  that  would  dissolve  tar  in 
a  chicken's  craw,  without  harming  the 
craw. 

Then  Millington  drew  a  sketch  of  the  auto 
matic  heat  regulator  he  was  having  made  to 
attach  to  his  heating  apparatus.  He  said 
that  ever  since  he  had  been  keeping  poultry 
he  had  made  a  study  of  coop  heating,  and 
that  the  trouble  with  most  coops  was  that 
they  were  either  too  hot  or  too  cold.  He  said 
a  cold  coop  meant  that  the  chickens  got 
chilly  and  exhausted  their  vitality  growing 
thick  feathers  when  all  their  strength  should 
have  been  used  in  egg-laying,  and  that  a  hot 


110    ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

coop  meant  that  the  chickens  felt  lax  and 
indolent.  A  hot  coop  enervated  a  chicken 
and  made  it  too  lazy  to  lay  eggs,  Millington 
said,  but  this  regulator  he  was  having  made 
would  keep  the  heat  at  an  even  temperature, 
summer  and  winter,  and  render  the  hens 
bright  and  cheerful  and  inclined  to  do  their 
best.  Millington  explained  that  this  was 
especially  necessary  with  White  Orpingtons, 
which  are  great  eaters  and  consequently 
more  inclined  toward  nervous  dyspepsia, 
which  makes  a  hen  moody.  He  was  going 
on  in  this  way,  and  every  one  was  hanging 
on  his  words,  when  he  happened  to  say  that 
one  thing  he  always  attended  to  most  par 
ticularly  was  the  state  of  his  hens'  teeth. 
He  said  he  had,  so  far,  avoided  dyspepsia  in 
his  hens,  by  keeping  their  teeth  in  good 
condition.  Every  one  knew  poor  teeth  caused 
stomach  troubles. 

That  was  the  end  of  Millington.  Rolfs 
had  been  green  with  jealousy  because  so 
many  commuters  were  listening  to  Milling- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  111 

ton,  and  the  moment  Millington  mentioned 
teeth  Rolfs  sneered. 

"How  many  teeth  do  White  Orpingtons 
have,  Millington?"  he  asked.  "I  did  not 
know  they  had  any." 

Then  Millington  saw  his  mistake,  and  did 
his  best  to  explain  that  as  a  rule  chickens  had 
no  teeth,  but  that  he  had,  by  a  process  of 
selection,  created  a  strain  that  had  eighteen 
teeth,  nine  above  and  nine  below,  but  no  one 
believed  him,  and  Rolfs  was  crowing  over  him 
when  he  made  his  mistake.  He  was  bragging 
that  he  never  made  a  mistake  of  that  kind, 
because  he  knew  hens  never  got  indigestion 
in  any  such  way.  All  that  was  necessary  he 
said,  was  to  let  them  have  plenty  of  exercise, 
and  to  let  them  out  once  in  a  while  for  a  good 
fly.  He  said  he  let  his  hens  out  once  every 
three  days,  so  they  could  fly  from  tree  to  tree. 

Then  Millington  asked,  sneeringly,  how 
high  his  hens  could  fly,  and  Rolfs  said  they 
were  in  such  good  condition  they  thought 
nothing  of  flying  to  the  top  of  a  forty -foot 


112  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

elm  tree,  and  Millington  sneered  and  said 
any  one  could  guess  what  kind  of  White 
Wyandottes  Rolfs  had,  when  a  common 
White  Wryandotte  is  so  heavy  it  cannot  fly 
over  a  rake  handle.  That  was  the  end  of 
Rolfs,  and  I  was  glad  of  it,  for  the  two  of  them 
had  been  getting  enough  reputation  on  the 
strength  of  my  chickens.  They  sneaked  out 
of  the  smoking  car,  and  at  last  I  had  a  chance 
to  say  a  few  words,  modestly  of  course,  about 
my  splendid  group  of  six  hundred  Buff  Leg 
horns.  I  did  not  brag,  as  Millington  and 
Rolfs  had  bragged,  but  stated  facts  coldly  and 
calmly,  and  my  words  met  the  attention  they 
deserved,  for  I  was  not  speaking  without 
knowledge,  as  Millington  and  Rolfs  had  spok 
en,  but  as  a  man  who  owns  a  hen  can  speak. 

I  reached  home  that  evening  in  a  pleasant 
state  of  mind,  for  I  knew  how  kind  hearted 
Isobel  is,  and  I  knew  she  would  see,  if  I  placed 
it  before  her,  that  it  was  extremely  cruel  to 
keep  a  hen  in  solitary  confinement,  when  the 
hen  had  probably  been  accustomed  to  a 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  113 

great  deal  of  society.  I  felt  sure  that  in  a 
few  days  Isobel  would  order  me  to  purchase 
enough  more  poultry  to  allow  Spotty  to  lead 
a  pleasant  and  sociable  life.  But  when  Isobel 
met  me  at  the  gate  she  disheartened  me. 

She  said  the  grocer's  grandmother  had  not 
been  seriously  ill,  after  all;  she  had  been  in 
a  mere  comatose  condition,  and  had  come  to, 
and  the  grocer  had  come  back,  and  he  had 
called  and  taken  Spotty.  He  offered  to 
kill  her  —  Spotty,  not  Isobel  or  his  grand 
mother  —  but  Isobel  could  not  bear  to  eat 
Spotty  so  soon  after  she  had  been  a  member 
of  our  family,  so  the  grocer  took  Spotty  away 
and  sent  up  another  roaster.  At  least  he 
said  it  was  another,  but  after  I  had  carved 
it  I  had  my  doubts.  In  general  strength 
and  durability  the  roaster  and  Spotty  were  one. 

The  next  morning,  when  I  went  out  to  see 
if  Mr.  Prawley  had  hoed  the  garden  properly, 
I  found  Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr.  Millington 
leaning  over  my  fence.  They  were  unabashed. 

"I  have  just  been  looking  over  your  place," 


114  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

said  Rolfs,  "and  I  must  say  it  is  a  most  ad 
mirably  located  place  on  which  to  keep  a 
cow.  And  if  you  want  any  suggestions  on 
cow-keeping,  you  may  call  on  me  at  any 
time.  I  have  studied  the  cow,  in  all  her 
moods  and  tenses,  for  years." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Millington.  "A  man 
is  foolish  to  try  to  keep  live  stock.  Live 
stock  is  subject  to  all  the  ills 

"Such  as  toothache!"  sneered  Rolfs. 

"All  the  ills  of  man  and  beast,"  continued 
Millington.  "What  you  want  is  an  auto 
mobile.  Now  I  will  sell  mine " 

"No!"  I  said  positively. 

"You  only  say  that  because  you  do  not 
know  my  automobile  as  I  know  it,"  said 
Millington.  "It  is  a  wonder,  that  machine 
is.  Now,  I  propose  that  to-morrow  you  and 
your  wife  take  a  little  run  up  to  Port  Lafay 
ette  with  me  and  my  wife.  After  the  cares 
of  chicken  raising  — — " 

"Very  well,  Millington,"  I  said,  "we  will 
go  to  Port  Lafayette!" 


CHESTERFIELD  WHITING 


VII 

Chesterfield  Whiting 

THE  next  morning  Millington  came  over 
bright  and  early,  and  his  face  was 
aglow  with  joy. 

"Get  ready  as  quickly  as  you  can,"  he 
said,  "for  I  will  be  ready  to  start  for  Port 
Lafayette  in  a  few  minutes.  The  automobile 
is  in  perfect  order,  and  we  should  have  a 
splendid  trip.  She  isn't  knocking  at  all." 

This  knocking,  which  was  located  in  the 
motor-case,  or  hood,  was  one  of  the  most 
reliable  noises  of  all  those  for  which  Milling- 
ton  listened  when  he  started  the  engine  of 
his  automobile.  He  was  very  fond  of  it, 
and  it  was  one  of  the  heartiest  knockings 
I  ever  heard  in  an  automobile.  It  was  like 
the  hiccoughs,  only  more  strenuous.  It  was 
as  if  a  giant  had  been  shut  in  the  motor  by 

117 


118  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

mistake  and  was  trying  to  knock  the  whole 
affair  to  pieces.  The  knock  came  about 
every  eight  seconds,  lightly  at  first,  getting 
stronger  and  stronger  until  it  made  the  fore- 
end  of  the  automobile  bounce  up  a  foot  or 
eighteen  inches  at  each  knock. 

Millington  loved  all  the  sounds  of  trouble, 
but  this  knocking  gave  him  the  most  pleasure 
and  put  him  in  his  pleasantest  mood,  for  he 
could  never  quite  discover  the  cause  of  it. 
When  everything  else  was  in  perfect  order 
the  knock  remained.  He  would  do  every 
thing  any  man  could  think  of  to  cure  it,  but 
the  machine  would  continue  to  knock.  I 
remember  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  put  a 
new  inner  tube  in  a  tire  once,  to  see  if  that 
would  have  any  effect,  but  it  did  not.  But 
there  were  plenty  of  other  noises,  too.  Mil 
lington  once  told  me  he  had  classified  and 
scheduled  four  hundred  and  eighteen  separate 
noises  of  disorder  that  he  had  heard  in  that 
one  automobile,  and  that  did  not  include  any 
that  might  be  another  noise  for  the  same 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  119 

disorders.  And  some  days  he  would  hear 
the  whole  four  hundred  and  eighteen  before 
we  had  gone  a  block.  Those  were  his  happy 
days. 

But  this  morning  Millington  came  over 
bright  and  early.  Isobel  was  just  putting  a 
cake  in  the  oven,  and  she  only  took  time  to 
tell  Jane,  or  Sophie,  or  whoever  happened 
to  be  our  maid  that  week,  that  she  would 
be  back  in  time  to  take  the  cake  out,  and  then 
we  went  over  to  Millington's  garage. 

Mrs.  Millington  was  already  in  the  auto 
mobile,  and  Isobel  and  I  got  in,  and  Milling- 
ton  opened  the  throttle  and  the  machine 
ran  down  the  road  to  the  street  as  lightly  and 
skimmingly  as  a  swallow.  It  glided  into  the 
street  noiselessly  and  headed  for  Port  Lafay 
ette  like  a  thing  alive.  I  noticed  that 
Millington  looked  anxious,  but  I  thought 
nothing  of  it  at  the  time.  His  brow  was 
drawn  into  a  frown,  and  from  moment  to 
moment  he  pulled  his  cap  farther  and  farther 
down  over  his  eyes.  He  leaned  far  over 


120  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

the  side  of  the  car.  He  listened  so  closely 
that  his  ears  twitched. 

Mrs.  Millington  and  Isobel  were  chatting 
merrily  on  the  rear  seat,  and  I  was  just 
turning  to  cast  them  a  word,  when  the  car 
came  to  a  stop.  I  turned  to  Milllington 
instantly,  ready  to  catch  the  pleasant  bit 
of  humour  he  usually  let  fall  when  he  began 
to  dig  out  his  wrenches  and  pliers,  but  his 
face  wore  a  glare  of  anger.  His  jaws  were 
set,  and  he  was  muttering  low,  intense  curses. 
I  have  seldom  seen  a  man  more  demoniacal 
than  Millington  was  at  that  moment.  I 
asked  him,  merrily,  what  was  the  matter 
with  the  old  junk  shop  this  time,  but  instead 
of  his  usual  chipper  repartee,  that  "the  old 
tea  kettle  has  the  epizootic,"  he  gave  me 
one  ferocious  glance  in  which  murder  was 
plainly  to  be  seen. 

Without  a  word  he  began  walking  around 
the  automobile,  eyeing  it  maliciously,  and 
every  time  he  passed  a  tire  he  kicked  it  as 
hard  as  he  could.  Then  he  began  opening 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  121 

all  the  opening  parts,  and  when  he  had  opened 
them  all  and  had  peered  into  them  long  and 
angrily  he  went  over  to  the  curb  and  sat 
down  and  swore.  Isobel  and  Mrs.  Milling- 
ton  politely  stuffed  their  handkerchiefs  in 
their  ears,  but  I  went  over  to  Millington  and 
spoke  to  him  as  man  to  man. 

"Millington,"  I  said  severely,  "calm 
down!  I  am  surprised.  Time  and  again  I 
have  started  for  Port  Lafayette  with  you, 
and  time  and  again  we  have  paused  all  day 
while  you  repaired  the  automobile.  Much 
as  I  have  wished  to  go  to  Port  Lafayette 
I  have  never  complained,  because  you  have 
always  been  better  company  while  repairing 
the  machine  than  at  any  other  time.  But 
this  I  cannot  stand.  If  you  continue  to  act 
this  way  I  shall  never  again  go  toward  Port 
Lafayette  with  you.  Brace  up,  and  repair 
the  machine." 

Millington's  only  answer  was  a  curse. 

I  was  about  to  take  him  by  the  throat  and 
teach  him  a  little  better  manners  when  he 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

arose  and  walked  over  to  the  machine  again. 
He  got  in  and  started  the  motor,  and  listened 
intently  while  I  ran  alongside.  Then,  with  a 
great  effort  he  controlled  his  feelings  and  spoke. 

"Ladies,"  he  said  between  his  teeth,  "we 
shall  have  to  postpone  going  to  Port  Lafay 
ette.  I  am  afraid  to  drive  this  car  any 
farther.  There  is  something  very,  very 
serious  the  matter  with  it." 

Then,  when  the  women  had  disappeared, 
my  wife  walking  rapidly  so  as  to  arrive  at 
home  before  her  cake  was  scorched,  Milling- 
ton  turned  to  me. 

"John,"  he  said  with  emotion,  "you  must 
excuse  the  feeling  I  showed.  I  was  upset; 
I  admit  that  I  was  overcome.  I  have  owned 
this  car  four  years,  but  in  all  that  time, 
although  I  have  started  for  Port  Lafayette 
nearly  every  day,  the  car  has  never  behaved 
as  it  has  just  behaved.  I  am  a  brave  man, 
John,  and  I  have  never  been  afraid  of  a 
motor-car  before,  but  when  my  car  acts  as 
this  car  has  just  acted,  I  am  afraid!" 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE    123 

I  could  see  he  was  speaking  the  truth.  His 
face  was  white  about  the  mouth,  and  the 
tense  lines  showed  he  was  nerving  himself 
to  do  his  duty.  His  voice  trembled  with  the 
intensity  of  his  self-control. 

"John,"  he  said,  taking  my  hand,  "were 
you  listening  to  the  car?" 

"No,"  I  had  to  admit.  "No,  Millington, 
I  was  not.  I  am  ashamed  to  say  it,  but  at 
the  moment  my  mind  was  elsewhere.  But," 
I  added,  as  if  in  self  defence,  "I  am  pretty 
sure  I  did  not  hear  that  knocking.  I  re 
member  quite  distinctly  that  I  was  not 
holding  on  to  anything,  and  when  the  engine 
knocks  —  But  what  did  you  hear?" 

A  shiver  of  involuntary  fear  passed  over 
Millington,  and  he  lowered  his  voice  to  a 
frightened  whisper.  He  glanced  fearfully 
at  the  automobile. 

"Nothing!  "he  said. 

"What?"  I  cried.  I  could  not  hide  my 
astonishment  and,  I  am  afraid,  my  disbelief. 
I  would  not,  for  the  world,  have  had 


124  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

Millington  think  I  thought  he  was  prevari 
cating. 

"Not  a  thing!"  he  repeated  firmly.  "Not 
a  sound;  not  one  bad  symptom.  Every  — 
everything  was  running  just  as  it  should  — 
just  as  they  do  in  other  automobiles." 

" Millington!"  I  said  reproachfully. 

"It  is  the  truth!"  he  declared.  "I  swear 
it  is  the  truth.  Nothing  seemed  broken  or 
about  to  break.  I  could  not  hear  a  sound 
of  distress,  or  a  symptom  of  disorder.  Do  you 
wonder  I  was  overcome?" 

"Millington,"  I  said  seriously,  "this  is 
no  light  matter.  I  shall  not  accuse  you  of 
wilfully  lying  to  me,  but  I  know  your  auto 
mobile,  and  I  cannot  believe  your  automobile 
could  proceed  four  hundred  feet  without 
making  noises  of  internal  disorder.  It  is 
evident  to  me  that  your  hearing  is  growing 
weak;  you  may  be  threatened  with  deafness." 

At  this  Millington  seemed  to  cheer  up 
considerably,  for  deafness  was  something  he 
could  understand.  I  proposed  that  we  both 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  125 

get  into  the  automobile  again,  and  I,  too, 
would  listen.  So  we  did.  It  was  almost 
pathetic,  it  was  most  pathetic,  to  see  the 
way  Millington  looked  up  into  my  face  to  see 
what  verdict  I  would  give  when  he  started 
the  motor. 

My  verdict  was  the  very  worst  possible. 
We  ran  a  block  at  low  speed  and  I  could  hear 
no  trouble.  We  ran  a  block  at  second  speed, 
and  no  distressful  noise  did  I  hear.  We  ran 
two  blocks  at  high  speed,  with  no  noise  but 
the  soft  purring  of  motors  and  machinery. 
As  Millington  brought  the  automobile  to  a 
stop  we  looked  at  each  other  aghast.  It  was 
true,  too  true,  nothing  was  the  matter  with 
the  automobile!  It  sparked,  it  ignited,  it  did 
everything  a  perfect  automobile  should  do, 
just  as  a  perfect  automobile  should  do  it. 
We  got  out  and  stared  at  the  automobile 
silently. 

"John,"  said  Millington  at  length,  "you 
can  easily  see  that  I  would  not  dare  to  start 
on  a  long  trip  like  that  to  Port  Lafayette 


126  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

when  my  automobile  is  acting  in  this  unac 
countable  manner.  It  would  be  the  most 
foolhardy  recklessness.  When  this  machine 
is  running  in  an  absolutely  perfect  manner, 
almost  anything  may  be  the  matter  with  it. 
My  own  opinion  is  that  a  spell  has  been 
cast  over  it,  and  that  it  is  bewitched." 

"I  never  knew  it  to  come  as  far  as  this 
without  stopping,"  I  said,  "and  to  come  this 
far  without  a  single  annoying  noise  makes 
me  sure  we  should  not  attempt  Port  Lafayette 
to-day  in  this  car.  I  shall  take  a  little  jaunt 
into  the  country  behind  my  horse,  and " 

"But  don't  go  to  Port  Lafayette,"  pleaded 
Millington.  "Perhaps  the  automobile  will 
be  worse  to-morrow.  If  she  only  develops 
some  of  the  noises  I  am  familiar  with  I  shall 
not  be  afraid  of  her." 

One  of  the  pleasures  of  being  a  suburbanite 
is  that  you  can  have  a  horse,  and  one  of  the 
pleasures  of  having  a  horse  is  that  you  keep 
off  the  main  roads  when  you  go  driving,  lest 
the  automobiles  get  you  and  your  horse  into 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

an  awful  mess.  In  driving  up  cross  roads 
and  down  back  roads  you  often  run  across 
things  you  would  like  to  own  —  things  the 
automobilist  never  sees  —  and  Isobel  and 
I  had  heard  of  a  genuine  Windsor  chair  of 
ancient  lineage.  I  imagine  the  chair  may 
have  been  almost  as  old  as  our  horse.  When 
Mr.  Millington  told  me  we  could  not  go  to 
Port  Lafayette  in  his  automobile  that  day, 
I  hurried  home  and  had  Mr.  Prawley  harness 
Bob,  and  it  was  that  day,  when  we  were 
hunting  the  Windsor  chair,  that  we  ran  across 
Chesterfield  Whiting.  Since  Isobel  had  be 
gun  to  like  suburban  life,  she  liked  it  as  only 
a  convert  could,  and  the  moment  she  saw 
Chesterfield  Whiting  she  declared  we  must, 
by  all  means,  keep  a  pig,  and  that  Chester 
field  Whiting  was  the  pig  we  must  keep. 

Personally  I  was  not  much  in  favour  of 
keeping  a  pig.  I  like  things  that  pay  divi 
dends  more  frequently.  I  would  not  give 
much  for  a  vegetable  garden  that  had  to 
be  planted  in  the  spring,  worked  all  summer, 


128  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

tended  all  fall,  and  that  only  yielded  its 
product  in  the  winter.  I  prefer  a  garden  that 
gives  a  vegetable  once  in  awhile.  Mine  does 
that  —  it  gives  a  vegetable  every  once  in 
awhile.  But  a  pig  is  a  slow  dividend 
payer. 

I  had  noticed  that  Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr. 
Millington  had  never  urged  me  to  get  a  pig. 
Whenever  I  mentioned  pig  they  mentioned 
various  deadly  and  popular  pig  diseases. 
They  had  urged  me  to  garden,  and  to  keep 
chickens,  and  a  horse,  and  a  cow,  and  even 
an  automobile  —  Millington  urged  me  to 
keep  his  —  but  never  a  pig !  I  would  not 
hint  that  Rolfs  and  Millington  were  selfish, 
or  that  they  hoped  to  receive,  now  and  then, 
milk  from  my  cow,  eggs  from  my  chickens, 
or  radishes  from  my  garden,  but  a  neighbour 
may  profit  in  that  way.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  neighbour  never  profits  from  the  suburban 
pig.  I  believe  now,  however,  that  Rolfs 
and  Millington  wished  me  to  have  things 
that  would  pay  as  they  went. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  129 

But  the  moment  Isobel  saw  the  pig  she  said 
we  must  have  him,  because  he  was  so  cute. 
I  had  never  thought  of  buying  a  pig  because 
it  was  cute  any  more  than  I  would  have 
thought  of  buying  a  spring  bonnet  because  it 
would  fatten  well  for  winter  killing,  but  I 
yielded  to  Isobel. 

Isobel  said  the  idea  of  a  pig  being  a  nuisance 
was  all  nonsense,  for  she  had  been  reading  a 
magazine  that  was  largely  devoted  to  pigs 
and  similar  objects  loved  by  country  gentle 
men,  and  that  modern  science  proved  beyond 
a  doubt  that  the  cleaner  the  pig  the  happier 
it  was.  She  said  a  pig  could  not  be  too  clean, 
and  that  if  a  pig  was  kept  perfectly  tidy  no  one 
could  object  to  it. 

"John,"  she  said,  "there  is  no  reason  in 
the  world  why  a  pig  should  not  be  as  clean  as 
a  new  pin.  The  magazine  says  that  if  a  pig 
is  usually  of  a  coarse,  disgruntled  nature,  it 
is  only  because  it  is  kept  in  coarse,  brutalizing 
surroundings,  and  treated  like  a  pig.  If  a 
pig  is  put  amidst  sweetness  and  light,  the  pig's 


130    ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

nature  will  be  sweet  and  light,  and  the  pig 
will  be  sweet  and  light." 

I  suggested  gently  that  a  pig,  all  things 
considered,  was  usually  counted  a  failure  if 
it  was  a  light  pig,  and  that  experts  had  de 
cided  in  favour  of  the  pig  that  became  heavy 
and  soggy. 

"What  I  mean,"  said  Isobel,  "is  light  in 
spirit,  not  light  in  weight." 

We  were  looking  over  the  fence  of  a  farm 
when  we  held  this  little  conversation,  and 
Chesterfield  Whiting  was  sporting  on  the 
clean,  green  clover,  amidst  his  brothers, 
quite  unconscious  that  he  was  so  soon  to 
be  separated  from  them  and  lose  their  com 
panionship.  We  had  been  attracted  to  him 
by  a  very  hand-made  sign  that  announced 
"Pigs  for  Sale."  Chesterfield  was  an  ex 
tremely  clean  pig,  and  I  must  admit  that  I 
was  rather  taken  by  his  looks  myself,  and 
when  we  drove  around  to  the  farm  house  I 
was  surprised  to  learn  how  inexpensive  a  pig  of 
tender  years  is,  and  I  bought  the  pig.  It 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  131 

is  hard  for  me  to  deny  Isobel  these  little 
pleasures. 

On  our  way  home  Isobel  and  I  talked  of 
the  future  of  Chesterfield,  and  we  resolved 
that  his  life  should  be  one  grand,  sweet  song, 
as  the  poet  says,  and  we  had  hardly  started 
homeward  than  it  appeared  as  if  Chesterfield 
meant  to  attend  to  the  song  feature  of  his 
life  himself.  I  never  imagined  a  pig  would 
feel  his  separation  from  his  native  place  so 
keenly.  He  began  to  mourn  in  a  keen  treble 
key  the  moment  the  farmer  grabbed  him, 
uttering  long,  sharp  wails  of  sorrow,  and  he 
kept  it  up.  Automobiles  with  siren  horns 
stopped  in  the  road  as  we  passed,  and  the 
chauffeurs  took  off  their  goggles  and  stared 
at  us.  It  was  very  hard  for  Isobel  to  sit  up 
straight  in  the  carriage  and  look  dignified 
and  cool  with  Chesterfield  wailing  out  his 
little  soul  sorrows  under  the  seat. 

As  we  neared  the  outskirts  of  Westcote, 
I  began  to  keep  an  eye  out  for  pig  houses. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  in  these  days  of  uplift 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

the  pig  keepers  of  a  suburb  such  as  ours, 
peopled  by  intelligent  men  and  women, 
would  have  the  most  modern  improvements 
in  pig  dwellings,  and  I  desired  to  make  a 
few  mental  notes  of  them  as  I  passed  by.  If 
I  saw  a  very  modern  pig  palace  I  meant  to 
get  out  of  the  carriage  and  examine  minutely 
the  conveniences  installed  for  the  pig's  com 
fort,  so  that  I  might  reproduce  them. 

Isobel  had  mentioned  casually  that  a  pig 
dwelling  with  tile  floors  and  walls  and  a  shower 
bath  would  be  quite  sanitary,  provided  the 
tiles  of  the  wall  met  the  tiles  of  the  floor  in 
a  concave  curve,  leaving  no  sharp  angles; 
but  as  we  journeyed  into  the  village  we  saw 
no  pig  houses  of  this  kind.  In  fact  we  saw 
no  pig  houses  of  any  kind.  At  first  this  only 
annoyed  me,  then  it  surprised  me,  and  by  the 
time  we  were  well  into  the  village  it  worried 
me. 

"Isobel,"  I  said,  "I  don't  like  this  absence 
of  pigs  in  this  village.  I  am  afraid  there  is 
something  wrong  here.  I  don't  know  what 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  133 

to  make  of  it.  It  may  be  that  hog-cholera 
is  epidemic  here  the  year  'round,  just  as  San 
Jose  scale  kills  all  the  apple  trees.  Have 
you  se*en  a  single  pig?" 

"Not  one,"  she  admitted.  "It  looks  as 
if  there  was  a  law  against  pigs." 

I  stopped  Bob,  and  looked  at  Isobel  in 
amazement. 

"Isobel!"  I  exclaimed.  "You  must  be 
right!  There  must  be  a  law  against  pigs! 
I  do  wish  Chesterfield  would  stop  yelling!" 

"John,"  said  Isobel,  "now  that  I  come  to 
think  of  it  I  do  not  believe  I  ever  saw  a  pig 
in  all  Westcote.  I  wonder  if  we  couldn't 
gag  Chesterfield  some  way?  If  he  howls 
like  that  every  one  will  know  we  have  a  pig." 

I  gagged  the  pig.  I  took  Isobel's  pink 
veil  and  wrapped  it  firmly  around  Chester 
field's  nose,  and  brought  the  ends  around  his 
neck  and  tied  them.  Then  I  stuck  his  head 
into  the  sleeve  of  my  rain  coat  and  wrapped 
him  in  the  coat,  and  tied  it  all  in  the  linen 
dust  robe.  He  was  well  gagged. 


134  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

"Isobel,"  I  said,  as  I  took  up  the  reins 
again,  "this  is  a  serious  matter.  We  will  have 
to  get  rid  of  this  pig,  and  we  will  have  to  do 
it  quickly.  I  do  not  want  to  get  into  diffi 
culties  with  the  City  of  New  York.  Keeping 
a  pig  in  the  suburbs  is  evidently  a  crime,  and 
it  is  a  difficult  crime  to  conceal.  If  I  com 
mitted  a  murder  and  used  ordinary  precau 
tions  there  might  be  no  danger  of  detection, 
but  a  pig  speaks  for  itself." 

"  Chesterfield  does,"  said  Isobel.  "  Do  you 
suppose  they  will  put  you  in  jail?" 

"Me  in  jail?"  I  ejaculated.  "He  is  your 
pig,  Isobel." 

"John,"  she  said  generously,  "I  give 
Chesterfield  to  you." 

"Isobel,"  I  said,  "I  cannot  accept  the 
sacrifice.  He  is  your  pig." 

"Well,"  she  said,  "we  will  go  to  prison 
together." 


SALTED  ALMONDS 


VIII 

Salted  Almonds 

A 5  WE  approached  our  house,  Mr. 
Millington,  who  was  in  his  garage, 
and  Mr.  Rolfs,  who  was  on  his  porch, 
came  to  meet  us.  They  looked  at  the  car 
riage  with  suspicion,  but  I  assumed  a  careless, 
innocent  look,  well  calculated  to  deceive 
them.  They  came  down  to  the  carriage,  and 
laid  their  hands  on  it,  and  glanced  into  it. 
Mr.  Rolfs,  with  ill-assumed  absent-minded 
ness,  lifted  the  leather  cover  of  the  rear  of 
the  carriage  box  and  glanced  in.  I  was  glad  we 
had  put  Chesterfield  Whiting  under  the  seat. 

"Shall  I  take  in  the—"  Isobel  began, 
but  I  cut  her  words  short. 

"No,  I  will  take  in  your  wraps,'9  I  said 
meaningly,  and  then  added:  ''Well,  good 
night,  Millington;  good  night,  Rolfs." 

137 


138  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

They  did  not  take  the  hint.  They  walked 
beside  the  carriage  as  I  drove  to  the  stable, 
and  although  Mr.  Prawley  was  able  to  do 
the  work  alone,  and  I  made  some  excuse  to 
help  him,  Rolfs  and  Millington  seemed  eager 
to  help  us. 

"I  worked  two  hours  over  my  automobile," 
said  Millington,  "and  she  is  knocking  again 
as  usual.  To-morrow,  I  propose  you  and  I 
and  our  wives  will  take  a  little  pig  up  to 
Port  Lafayette-  -" 

"Pig?"  I  said.  "What  do  you  mean  by 
pig,  Millington." 

"Did  I  say  pig?"  said  Millington  in  great 
confusion.  "I  meant  to  say:  'take  a  little 
spin.'" 

"John  will  think  you  think  he  is  thinking 
of  keeping  a  pig,"  said  Rolfs  accusingly  to 
Millington.  "He  will  think  you  are  doubting 
his  sanity.  John  would  no  more  keep  a  pig 
on  this  place  - 

"Certainly  not!"  I  cried.  "The  idea! 
Keep  a  pig!" 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  139 

• 

"Well,  you  know,"  said  Millington,  and 
then  stopped.  "What  is  that  squeak?"  he 
asked. 

I  knew  only  too  well  what  that  squeak  was. 
It  was  Chesterfield. 

"That?"  I  said  carelessly.  "Oh,  that  is 
nothing.  My  carriage  springs  need  oiling. 
Mr.  Prawley,  don't  forget  to  oil  the  carriage 
springs  to-morrow." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Prawley,  "but  if  I 
might  suggest  feeding  the  - 

"Ahem!"  I  said  loudly.  "Oil  the  springs, 
Prawley.  To-morrow." 

"When  I  said  Hake  a  little  pig,'"  said 
Millington,  "  I  meant  - 

"Millington,"  I  said,  "I  forgive  you! 
Men  will  make  mistakes  —  slip  of  the  tongue 
-Well,  good  night!" 

"See  here,"  said  Millington,  "I  know  you 
feel  some  resentment." 

"No  I  don't!     Good  night!"  I  said  angrily. 

"Yes  you  do!"  said  Millington.  "And  I'll 
tell  you  why.  You  remember  you  men- 


140    ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

t 

tioned,  some  time  ago,  that  you  thought  you 
would  keep  a  pig?  Personally  I  would  be 
delighted  to  have  you  keep  a  pig  or  even  a 
lot  of  pigs.  You  could  make  an  infernal 
stock  yard  of  your  place  if  you  wanted  to. 
I  love  pigs.  If  I  could  have  my  way  I  would 
have  a  pig  pen  immediately  under  my  window, 
so  that  when  I  awakened  in  the  morning  I 
could  glance  down  at  the  happy,  contented 
creatures.  Nothing  starts  the  day  so  well 
as  to  see  contented  creatures,  and  there  is 
nothing  so  contented  as  a  pig.  If  I  could  have 
my  own  way  I  would  beg  you  to  build  your 
pig  pen  immediately  under  my  window.  But 
I  am  not  a  selfish  man." 

"I  know  you  are  not,  Millington,"  I  said; 
"but  I  am  not  considering  the  purchase  of 
a  pig.  Good  night!" 

"Of  course  you  are  not,"  said  Rolfs,  "and 
I  only  want  to  say  that  if  you  do  keep  a  pig 
you  can  gratify  Millington,  for  every  law  of 
pig  culture  demands  that  you  build  your 
pig  house  against  the  western  fence,  and  not 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  141 

against  my  fence.  The  pig  is  a  delicate 
creature,  and  his  pen  should  be  where  the 
invigorating  rays  of  the  morning  sun  can 
strike  him.  Now  my  fence  is  the  eastern 
fence-  -" 

"And  this  man  Rolfs  pretends  to  be  your 
friend!"  exclaimed  Millington  sneeringly. 

"  Why  every  one  knows  that  unless  a  pig  has 
sweet  dreams  he  becomes  moody  and  listless, 
and  loses  interest  in  life.  A  pig's  place  of 
residence  should  always  be  where  the  last 
rays  of  the  sun  can  strike  him  —  against 
the  eastern  fence.  You  want  to  put  that 
pen  against  Rolf's  fence." 

At  this  Mr.  Rolfs  became  greatly  agitated. 
He  glared  at  Mr.  Millington,  and  shook  his 
fist  at  me. 

"You'll  put  no  pigpen  on  my  side  of 
your  yard!"  he  said  threateningly. 

"And  you  keep  your  pig  pen  away  from 
my  fence,"  said  Mr.  Millington  hotly.  "I 
am  your  friend,  and  I  start  to  Port  Lafayette 
with  you  day  after  day " 


142  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

"Millington,"  said  Rolfs,  calming  himself, 
"we  will  not  have  a  pig  in  this  neighbourhood 
at  all.  If  this  fellow  attempts  to  keep  a  pig 
we  will  have  the  law  on  him.  That  is  what 
we  will  do!" 

"That  is  what  we  will  do,  Rolfs,"  said  Mil 
lington,  "at  the  first  evidence  of  a  pig  we  will 
set  the  police  on  him.  We  won't  stand  it ! " 

"Gentlemen,"  I  said  calmly,  "I  have  no 
intention  of  keeping  a  pig.  Such  an  idea 
never  entered  my  mind.  And  as  for  you, 
Millington,  I  know  you  now.  You  have 
shown  yourself  as  you  are.  Never  again, 
Millington,  shall  I  start  to  Port  Lafayette 
in  your  automobile.  That  is  final!  Good 
night,  gentlemen!" 

Millington  and  Rolfs  went  off  arm  in  arm, 
and  when  they  were  out  of  sight  I  hurriedly 
rescued  Chesterfield  Whiting,  in  all  his  wrap 
pings,  from  under  the  seat,  and  rushed  him 
into  the  house.  I  let  Mr.  Prawley  continue 
to  unharness  the  horse.  I  told  Isobel  what 
my  neighbours  had  said.  Chesterfield,  in 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  143 

his  gags,  lay  at  my  feet. 

"To-morrow,  Isobel,"  I  said,  "we  must  get 
rid  of  Chesterfield  Whiting.  In  the  mean 
time  we  must  keep  him  a  dark  secret.  We 
must  keep  him  silent,  or  we  are  lost." 

Suddenly  the  dust-robe  bundle  at  our  feet 
began  to  palpitate  violently.  It  bounced 
like  a  fish  out  of  water,  and  I  made  a  grab 
for  it.  Chesterfield  screamed.  I  threw  my 
self  hastily  upon  him  and  wrapped  him  in 
my  arms  and  muzzled  the  bunch  of  veil 
that  was  his  nose  with  my  hand.  As  I  stood 
erect  again  I  chanced  to  glance  out  of  the 
window,  and  I  saw  Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr.  Mil- 
lington  in  deep  conversation  with  a  police 
man.  From  time  to  time  they  turned  and 
glanced  at  my  house.  Motioning  Isobel  to 
follow  me,  I  bore  Chesterfield  to  the  attic. 
We  closed  the  windows  of  the  trunk  room  in 
the  attic,  and  locked  the  door.  Then  I 
opened  a  trunk,  unwrapped  Chesterfield  and 
dropped  him  into  the  trunk,  and  shut  the 
lid.  And  sat  on  it. 


144    ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

Isobel  peeked  out  of  the  window,  and  told 
me  that  the  policeman  and  Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr. 
Millington  were  staring  at  our  attic  windows. 

An  ordinary  pig  would  have  been  glad 
to  be  unwrapped  and  dropped  into  a  cozy, 
roomy  trunk,  but  Chesterfield  was  no  ordinary 
pig.  He  was  a  weeper.  First  he  wailed  for 
his  lost  home.  Then  he  screamed  for  his 
mother.  Then  he  shrieked  for  each  of  his 
dear  little  brothers  and  sisters  individually. 
Then  he  opened  his  lungs  and  squealed  for 
all  of  them  at  once,  and  the  policeman  took 
out  his  note-book  and  wrote  down  the  number 
of  our  house.  I  realized  then  that  keeping 
a  pig  in  the  suburbs  is  attended  by  difficulties. 
The  theory  of  keeping  your  pigs  cheerful  and 
happy  is  all  right  in  a  book,  but  it  is  hard  to 
live  up  to  when  the  pig  is  homesick  and  a 
policeman  with  a  note-book  is  on  your  front 
walk.  It  is  well  enough  for  an  agricultural 
writer  to  sit  in  his  hall  bedroom  in  the  city 
and  scribble  about  uplifting  the  pig,  and 
spiritualizing  it,  and  bathing  it,  but  did  he 


*'  Isabel  peeked  out  of  the  window,  and  told  me  that  the 
policeman  and  Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr.  Millington  were 
staring  at  our  attic  windows" 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  145 

ever  try  to  soothe  a  homesick  pig  in  an  attic? 
Did  he  ever  try  to  bathe  a  pig  in  a  trunk? 
Did  he  ever  try  to  scatter  sunshine  in  a  pig's 
life  when  the  pig  has  firmly  made  up  its  mind 
to  mourn?  Did  he  ever  try  to  reason  with 
the  pig  when  the  pig  is  full  of  squeal,  and  has 
no  desire  in  life  but  to  pour  forth  eons  and 
leagues  of  it? 

When  a  pig  feels  like  that,  it  is  useless  to 
read  it  [chapters  from  Hamilton  Wright 
Mabie's  "Essays  on  Nature  and  Culture." 
Occasionally  I  opened  the  lid  of  the  trunk 
and  looked  in  to  assure  myself  that  there  was 
but  one  pig,  and  not  three  or  four.  When 
a  pig  reaches  the  stage  where  its  eyes  become 
set  and  stary,  and  it  gives  forth  long,  soul- 
piercing  wails,  it  does  not  want  a  bath. 
It  does  not  want  sunshine,  nor  Bible  classes, 
nor  uplift,  nor  simple  life.  It  wants  food. 

The  more  I  studied  Chesterfield  the  more 
certain  I  became  that  if  a  man  wants  to  win 
the  affection  of  a  pig  he  can  best  do  so,  not 
by  lifting  the  pig  over  the  edge  of  a  porcelain 


146    ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

bath  tub  every  few  hours  to  give  it  a  rub-down, 
but  by  standing  by  with  a  couple  of  tons  of 
feed  and  shovelling  it  down  the  pig  with  a 
scoop-shovel.  The  pig's  squawker  and  its 
swallower  are  one  and  the  same  instrument, 
and  the  only  way  to  keep  the  squawker  quiet 
is  to  keep  the  swallower  plugged  with  food. 
In  its  idle  hours  the  pig  may  long  for  sweet 
ness  and  light,  but  it  wants  meals  at  all 
hours  of  the  day  and  night. 

We  found  that  Chesterfield  preferred  salted 
almonds  to  affection.  He  began  eating 
salted  almonds  immediately  after  we  had  fed 
him  everything  else  in  the  house  that  was 
edible,  and  by  feeding  him  one  almond  at  a 
time  Isobel  was  able  to  keep  him  interested. 
By  this  means  she  kept  his  mind  off  his 
sorrows.  He  could  not  weep  and  chew. 

Time  and  again,  as  the  hours  slipped  by, 
Isobel  tested  Chesterfield,  to  see  if  he  was 
satisfied,  but  at  each  test  his  sorrow  broke 
forth  afresh.  I  never  knew  a  pig  was  so 
full  of  sorrows.  I  would  not  have  believed 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  147 

that  so  small  a  pig,  so  full  of  salted  almonds, 
could  have  room  for  one  small  sorrow.  And 
yet,  the  moment  Isobel  ceased  feeding  him, 
he  would  run  around  inside  the  trunk,  nosing 
it  and  wailing  for  —  I  don't  know  what  he 
was  wailing  for! 

About  midnight,  when  Isobel  was  worn  out> 
I  took  her  place  and  let  her  go  to  bed.  I 
told  her  I  would  feed  salted  almonds  until 
three,  and  then  call  her,  and  she  could  feed 
until  six,  while  I  got  a  little  sleep.  About 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning  I  gave  Chester 
field  his  eighteenth  drink  of  water,  and  when 
I  offered  him  another  salted  almond  he  seemed 
languid.  He  eyed  it  covetously,  opened  his 
mouth,  sighed  once,  and  fell  over  sideways. 
His  regular  breathing  told  me  he  had  fallen 
into  a  deep,  sweet  sleep,  and  I  removed  my 
shoes  and  stole  softly  downstairs. 

"He  has  fallen  asleep,"  I  told  Isobel,  "and 
I  think  he  will  probably  take  a  good  nap. 
He  has  had  a  hard  day.  I  left  him  quite 
comfortable  and " 


148  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

"Drink!  Almonds!  Mother!  I'm  lone- 
lee-ee-wee  -  -  wee  -  -  wee ! "  wailed  Chester 
field  at  that  instant,  and  I  hurried  up  to  the 
attic.  I  threw  open  the  lid  of  the  trunk, 
and  found  him  standing  on  his  feet.  He  was 
still  asleep,  his  white-lashed  eyes  firmly 
closed  in  slumber,  but  his  squealer  was  work 
ing  as  if  he  were  awake,  and  when  I  fed  him 
a  salted  almond  he  munched  and  swallowed 
it  without  awakening,  and  squealed  for 
another.  He  was  so  sound  asleep  that  he 
could  not  even  reach  out  for  the  almonds; 
I  had  to  poke  them  into  his  mouth.  When 
I  missed  his  mouth  and  dropped  the  almond 
on  the  floor  of  the  trunk  he  squealed.  At  last 
he  lay  down  comfortably  and  slept  and  ate 
almonds. 

I  had  one  great  fear.  I  was  running  out 
of  almonds.  So  I  tried  him  with  wads  of 
newspaper,  and  found  they  satisfied  him  quite 
as  well.  I  fed  him  a  complete  Sunday  news 
paper,  including  the  coloured  supplement 
and  the  "want"  advertisements,  before  sun- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  149 

rise.  I  imagine  the  newspaper  was  not  very 
nourishing,  for  Chesterfield  awakened  at 
sunrise  with  a  tremendous  appetite,  and  let 
us  know,  plainly,  that  he  was  starving  to 
death.  I  fed  him  my  breakfast  and  IsobePs 
while  Mr.  Prawley  was  digging  up  what  re 
mained  in  our  vegetable  garden,  and  when 
Chesterfield  had  eaten  that  I  gagged  him  with 
the  pink  veil,  and  stuffed  his  head  in  the 
sleeve  of  my  rain  coat  once  more. 

"Isobel,"  I  said,  "the  time  has  at  last 
come  when  we  must  cease  keeping  pigs.  I 
love  to  be  surrounded  by  affection,  but  I 
believe  we  have  kept  this  pig  long  enough. 
An  attic  is  no  place  in  which  to  run  a  modern 
swine  industry.  It  is  too  far  from  the  nearest 
bath  tub.  Bathe  him  now,  if  you  would  bathe 
him  at  all,  for  he  is  going  back  to  the  farm." 

"If  we  packed  him  in  a  trunk,"  said  Isobel 
thoughtfully,  paying  no  attention  to  the  bath 
suggestion,  "we  might  send  him  back  to 
the  farmer  by  express,  and  Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr. 
Millington  would  never  know  we  had  - 


150  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

"That  is  a  good  idea,"  I  said,  "except  that 
we  do  not  know  the  name  of  the  farmer,  and 
that  the  Interurban  does  not  deliver  express 
parcels  twelve  miles  from  Westcote- 

:<We  might  pack  him  in  a  suit  case,"  sug 
gested  Isobel.  "If  we  packed  him  in  the 
suit  case  and  pretended  we  were  going  on  a 
picnic  and  that  the  suit  case  was  our  lunch  - 
I  suppose  Chesterfield  will  be  some  one's 
lunch  some  day?" 

"Fine!"  I  said,  and  we  began  pretending 
we  were  going  on  a  picnic.  I  packed  Chester 
field  Whiting  in  the  suit  case,  and  then  went 
down  and  had  Mr.  Prawley  harness  the  horse. 
I  noticed  that  the  policeman  was  still  hanging 
near  our  house,  and  that  Mr.  Millington  was 
eyeing  me  from  his  porch. 

"Ah!  Millington!"  I  called  cheerfully. 
"Fine  day  for  a  picnic!  Isobel  and  I  are 
just  off  for  one." 

He  came  running  over  immediately. 

"Admirable!"  he  cried.  "I  was  just  com 
ing  over  to  suggest  that  very  thing.  The 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  151 

automobile  is  running  beautifully  this  morn 
ing,  and  we  four  can  run  up  to  Port  Lafay 
ette " 

Port  Lafayette! 

"Millington,"  I  said,  assuming  an  angry 
tone,  "last  evening  you  insulted  me,  and  you 
seem  to  think  I  will  forgive  you  thus  easily. 
No  indeed!  I  am  not  that  sort  of  man, 
Millington.  I  will  not  take  Isobel  to  Port 
Lafayette,  for  I  have  promised  to  let  you 
take  us  there,  but  we  will  go  on  this  picnic 
behind  Bob.  And  if  you  see  Rolfs  just  tell 
him  what  a  silly  ass  he  made  of  himself, 
thinking  I  would  be  crazy  enough  to  keep  a 
pig.  I  may  be  some  kinds  of  a  fool,  Milling- 
ton,  but  I  am  not  that  kind!" 

I  think  Millington  blushed.  He  should  have 
blushed.  Saying  I  would  keep  a  pig,  indeed! 

When  I  returned  for  Isobel  and  carried 
the  suit  case  downstairs  I  felt  as  light-hearted 
as  a  boy.  Chesterfield  was  so  well  muzzled 
and  gagged  that  he  made  no  sound  whatever, 
and  when  I  stepped  from  my  door,  with 


152  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

Isobel  by  my  side,  I  was  pleased  to  see  Rolfs 
stepping  from  his  front  door,  and  I  hailed 
him.  He  stopped,  but  he  looked  annoyed. 

"If  you  want  to  say  anything  ugly,  say 
it  quick,"  he  said,  "for  I'm  in  a  rush  to  catch 
a  train,  and  if  I  just  catch  it,  I  can  just  catch 
the  ferry,  to  catch  a  train  for  Chicago.  I 
can't  stop  now  - 

"Get  in  the  buggy,"  I  said  heartily,  "we 
will  drive  you  to  the  station.  Isobel  and  I 
are  going  on  a  little  picnic.  Put  your  suit 
case  in  the  back,  with  ours.  We  always 
carry  our  lunch  in  a  suit  case  when  we  go 
picnicing.  Hop  in!" 

"Well,  it  is  kind  of  you,"  said  Rolfs  rather 
sheepishly.  "I  hope  you  did  not  feel  hurt 
by  what  I  said  last  night  about  pigs.  I  feel 
rather  strongly  about  pigs." 

"Rolfs,"  I  said  as  I  gathered  up  the  reins, 
"I  am  not  a  man  to  nurse  hard  feelings,  but 
I  must  say  - 

"Look  here!"  said  Rolfs,  "I  did  not  get 
into  this  buggy  to  listen  to 


"Imagine  how  Rolfs  felt  when  he  opened  my  suit  case 
on  the  sleeper  and  found  a  rain  coat,  a  pink  veil,  and 
Chesterfield  Whiting ! ' ' 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  153 

'You  can  get  out  again,"  I  said  inhos 
pitably,  "any  time  you  do  not  like  straight, 
honest  talk.  I  mean  nothing  unneighbourly 
but  when  a  man  accuses— 

Without  another  word  Rolfs  jumped  out, 
and  grabbing  his  suit  case,  walked  haughtily 
away.  I  could  not  forbear  giving  him  a  little  dig. 

"Bon  voyage,  Rolfs,"  I  called.  "Don't 
get  pigs  on  the  brain  to-night  again!"  and 
Isobel  and  I  laughed  as  we  drove  away. 

When  the  farmer  saw  us  drive  into  his  yard 
he  seemed  surprised,  but  he  was  nice  about 
it.  He  said  he  was  willing  to  pay  us  back  half 
what  we  had  paid  him  for  Chesterfield  Whit 
ing,  but  we  would  not  hear  of  it. 

"No,"  I  said  firmly,  "we  have  Tiad  our 
money's  worth  of  pig!" 

Then  I  opened  the  suit  case. 

It  contained,  among  other  things,  a  suit 
of  pajamas,  a  tooth  brush,  four  shirts,  six 
pair  of  socks,  underwear,  handkerchiefs,  a 
book  entitled  "The  Complete  Rights  of 
the  Citizen,"  and  twelve  collars.  But  no  pig. 


154  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

All  the  articles  were  of  good  quality,  and 
most  had  Rolf's  initials  on  them.  I  must 
say  the  suit  case  contained  a  nice  assortment 
of  haberdashery.  But  no  pig.  Not  that 
I  blamed  Rolfs  for  not  packing  a  pig  in  his 
suit  case,  for  he  was  going  to  Chicago  where 
there  are  stock  yards  full  of  pigs,  if  he  should 
happen  to  want  one.  And  a  suit  case  is  no 
place  for  a  pig,  anyway.  Imagine  the  feel 
ings  of  a  man  in  a  sleeping  car  when  he  has 
buckled  the  curtains  of  his  berth  around  him, 
and  has  partly  undressed  behind  them.  And 
then  imagine  him  reaching  down  and  open 
ing  his  suit  case,  expecting  to  find  a  suit  of 
pajarras,  and  finding,  instead,  a  pig.  Imagine 
him  when  the  pig  —  a  Chesterfield  Whiting 
pig  —  springs  lightly  forth  and  gives  voice 
to  his  homesickness ! 

If  you  can  imagine  that,  you  can  imagine 
how  Rolfs  felt  when  he  opened  my  suit  case 
on  the  sleeper  and  found  a  rain  coat,  a  pink 
veil,  and  Chesterfield  Whiting! 


THE  ROYAL  GAME 


IX 

The  Royal  Game 

FOR  several  days  after  the  pig  episode 
I  refused  to  start  for  Port  Lafayette  in 
Millington's  automobile,  although  he 
used  to  lean  over  the  fence  and  beg  me  almost 
tearfully,   but   one    fine    morning    he    came 
over,  and   he  looked  so    haggard   and  care 
worn  that  I  took  pity  on  him. 

"John,"  he  said,  as  he  led  me  to  his  garage, 
which  was  on  the  back  of  his  lot,  "I  am  sure 
this  automobile  of  mine  is  bewitched.  I 
cannot  think  of  anything  else  that  would 
make  it  behave  as  an  automobile  in  good 
health  should,  and  I  give  you  my  word  of 
honour  that  it  is  acting  in  perfect  rhythm, 
never  slipping  a  cog  nor  missing  fire.  Of 
course,  with  the  machine  behaving  in  that 
unaccountable  manner,  I  would  not  dare  to 

157 


158    ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

start  for  Port  Lafayette,  but  I  want  to  run 
you  around  to  the  Country  Club.  You  ought 
to  be  in  our  Country  Club,  and  I  want  you 
to  see  it,  and  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what 
you  think  about  this  automobile  of  mine. 
I  can't  understand  it!" 

I  have  often  noticed  three  things:  I  have 
noticed  that  a  boy  is  never  really  happy  until 
he  owns  a  dog;  I  have  noticed  that  a  flat- 
dweller  is  never  content  until  he  owns  a 
phonograph;  but  above  all  I  have  noticed 
that  the  commuter  -  -  the  man  that  lives  in 
the  sweet-scented,  tree-embowered  suburbs  — 
is  restless  and  uneasy  until  he  joins  the 
Country  Club.  So  I  accepted  Millington's 
invitation. 

We  ran  out  of  his  yard  and  half  a  block 
up  the  street,  Millington  listening  carefully 
all  the  while,  and  we  could  not  hear  a  sound 
of  distress  in  any  part  of  the  automobile. 
Millington  stopped  the  car  and  got  out. 

"I  am  going  to  walk  to  the  Club,"  he  said. 
"I  won't  trust  myself  in  that  car.  As  for 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  159 

you,  as  it  was  entirely  for  your  sake  I  pro 
posed  this  little  run  to  the  Club,  I  am  going 
to  put  the  machine  in  your  charge,  and  you 
are  to  run  it  around  the  block  until  it  resumes 
its  normal  bad  condition.  From  what  I 
know  of  you  and  the  remarks  you  have  made 
while  I  have  tried  to  repair  the  engine,  I 
believe  you  will  soon  have  it  making  all  sorts 
of  noises,  and,"  he  added,  "perhaps  it  will 
be  making  a  noise  it  never  made  before." 

Then  he  showed  me  how  to  start,  and  what 
to  touch  if  a  tree  or  telephone  post  got  in 
my  way,  and  then  he  went  on  to  the  Country 
Club. 

I  was  much  touched  by  this  evidence  of 
Millington's  faith  in  my  ability  to  bring 
out  the  bad  points  of  his  automobile,  and  as 
soon  as  he  disappeared  I  set  to  work,  and 
I  had  hardly  gone  twice  around  the  block 
before  I  had  it  knocking  more  loudly  than  ever 
I  had  heard  it  knock.  But  I  was  resolved 
to  show  Millington  that  his  trust  was  not  mis 
placed,  and  I  ran  the  nose  of  the  machine  into 


160  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

a  tree,  threw  on  the  high  speed  suddenly  until 
I  heard  a  grinding  noise  that  told  me  the 
gears  were  stripped.  Then  I  left  the  car 
there  and  walked  on  to  the  Country  Club. 

A  Country  Club  is  an  institution  conducted 
for  the  purpose  of  securing  as  many  new 
members  as  possible,  in  order  that  their 
initiation  fees  may  pay  for  the  upkeep  of  the 
golf  green.  Aside  from  this,  the  object  of 
the  club  is  to  enable  the  men  that  mow  the 
grass  to  make  an  honest  living  by  selling 
the  golf  balls  they  find  while  mowing  the 
grass. 

The  Membership  Committee,  on  which 
Millington  served,  is  a  small  body  of  men 
whose  duty  it  is  to  learn,  as  soon  as  possible, 
who  that  new  man  is  that  moved  into 
Billing's  house,  and  to  get  twenty  dollars  in 
initiation  fees  from  him,  before  he  has 
spent  all  his  money  for  mosquito  screens. 

When  Millington  said  to  me,  in  the  way 
members  of  Country  Clubs  have,  "  You  ought 
to  be  in  our  Country  Club,"  I  was  tickled.  I 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  161 

did  not  know  then  that  Millington  was  on 
the  membership  committee,  and  his  willing 
ness  to  admit  me  to  fellowship  seemed  to  show 
that  I  had  been  promptly  recognized  as  a 
desirable  citizen  of  Westcote;  a  man  worth 
knowing;  one  of  the  inner  circle  of  desirables. 
What  more  fully  convinced  me  was  the  eager 
ness  of  Mr.  Rolfs. 

"We  must  have  you  in,"  said  Rolfs.  "I 
have  been  speaking  to  several  of  the  members 
about  you,  and  they  are  all  enthusiastic 
about  taking  you  in.  Of  course,  our  green 
is  a  little  ragged  just  now,  but  when  we  get 
your  mon--when  —  of  course,  the  green 
is  a  little  ragged  just  now,  but  we  expect  to 
have  it  trimmed  soon,  very  soon." 

Isobel  was  delighted  when  I  told  her  I 
contemplated  joining  the  Country  Club.  She 
said  it  would  do  me  all  the  good  in  the  world 
to  play  a  game  of  golf  now  and  then,  and 
when  I  mentioned  that  I  thought  of  taking 
family  membership,  which  would  admit  her 
to  all  the  club  privileges,  she  was  more  than 


162  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

pleased.  So  were  Mr.  Rolfs  and  Mr.  Mil- 
lington.  I  forget  how  many  more  dollars 
a  family  membership  cost.  They  shook 
hands  with  me  warmly,  and  Millington  said 
something  to  Rolfs  about  their  now  being 
able  to  dump  another  load  or  two  of  sand 
on  the  bunker  at  the  sixth  hole.  They  also 
said  the  ladies  would  be  delighted.  Many, 
they  said,  had  asked  them  why  Isobel  had 
not  joined. 

Then  they  mentioned  earnestly  that  the 
initiation  fee  and  the  first  year's  dues  were 
payable  immediately.  They  even  offered 
to  send  in  my  check  for  the  amount  with  my 
membership  application. 

I  had  never  played  golf,  but  Millington 
said  he  would  lend  me  an  excellent  book 
on  the  game,  written  by  one  of  the  great 
players,  and  Rolfs  offered  to  pick  me  out  a 
set  of  clubs.  He  was  enthusiastic  when  we 
went  to  the  shop  where  clubs  were  sold, 
and  I  must  say  he  did  not  allow  the  clerk 
to  foist  off  on  me  any  old-fashioned,  shop- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  163 

worn  clubs.  He  said  with  pride,  as  we  left 
the  shop,  that,  so  far  as  he  knew,  every  club 
I  had  secured  was  absolutely  new  in  model, 
and  that  not  one  club  in  the  lot  was  of  a  kind 
ever  seen  on  the  Westcote  course  before.  Some 
he  said,  he  was  sure  had  never  been  seen 
on  any  course  anywhere. 

He  said  my  putter  would  create  great 
excitement  when  it  appeared  on  the  course. 
I  must  give  him  credit  for  being  right.  The 
putter  was,  perhaps,  too  much  like  a  brass 
sledge-hammer  to  be  graceful,  and  I  found 
later  that  it  worked  much  better  as  a  croquet 
mallet  than  as  a  tool  for  putting  a  golf  ball 
into  a  hole,  but  it  was  fine  advertisement 
for  a  new  member.  Members  who  might 
never  have  noticed  me  at  all  began  to  speak 
of  me  immediately.  They  referred  to  me 
as  "that  fellow  that  Rolfs  got  to  buy  the 
idiotic  putter." 

The  golf  course  at  our  Westcote  Country 
Club  is  one  of  the  best  I  have  ever  seen.  It 
is  almost  free  from  those  irregularities  of 


164  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

ground  that  make  so  many  golf  courses  fretful. 
In  selecting  the  ground  the  Committee  had 
in  mind,  I  think,  a  billiard  table,  but  as  it 
was  impossible  to  secure  a  sufficiently  large 
plot  of  ground  as  level  as  that  near  Westcote, 
they  secured  the  most  level  they  could  and 
then  went  over  it  with  a  steam  grader.  The 
envious  members  of  the  Oakland  Club  speak 
of  it  as  the  Westcote  Croquet  Grounds. 

The  first  day  I  appeared  at  the  club  I 
saw  that  golf  was  indeed  a  difficult  game, 
particularly  after  Mr.  Millington  had  ex 
plained  how  it  was  worked.  He  began  by 
remarking  that,  of  course,  I  could  not  expect 
to  do  much  with  "that  bunch  of  crazy  scrap 
iron"  — that  being  the  manner  in  which  he 
referred  to  the  up-to-date  clubs  Rolfs  had 
selected  for  me  —  and  that  no  man  who  knew 
anything  about  golf  ever  used  the  red-white- 
and-pink  polka-dot  balls,  which  were  the 
kind  Rolfs  had  advised  me  to  buy.  Then 
he  looked  through  my  clubs  scornfully  and 
selected  my  putter. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  165 

"Usually,"  he  said  ironically,  "we  begin 
with  a  driver,  and  drive  the  ball  as  far  as 
we  can  from  this  place,  which  is  called  the 
driving  green,  but  I  think  this  tool,  in  your 
hands,  will  do  as  well  as  anything  else  in 
your  collection  of  kitchen  cutlery.  What  do 
you  call  this  tool,  anyway?" 

I  looked  at  the  label  on  the  handle  and  read 
it.  I  told  Millington  it  was  a  putter,  but 
he  would  not  believe  me.  I  showed  him  the 
label,  which  said  quite  plainly  "putter," 
but  he  was  still  skeptical.  He  did  not  deny 
positively  that  it  was  a  putter;  he  merely 
said,  "Well,  if  this  instrument  of  torture  is 
a  putter,  I'll  eat  it." 

Mr.  Millington  then  made  a  little  mound 
of  sand  \vhich  he  took  from  the  green  sand 
box,  and  set  one  of  my  golf  balls  on  top  of 
the  mound.  This,  I  soon  learned,  is  called 
"teeing"  the  ball. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Millington,  "I  will 
explain  the  game.  Wlien  the  ball  is  teed  as 
you  see  it  here,  you  take  the  club  and  hit 


166  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

the  ball  so  it  will  travel  low  and  straight 
through  the  air  as  far  as  possible  toward 
that  red  flag  you  see  yonder.  The  ball  will 
alight  on  the  fair  green.  You  follow  it, 
and  hit  it  again,  and  it  should  then  alight 
fairly  and  squarely  on  the  putting-green. 
You  then  follow  it,  take  the  pole  that  bears 
the  flag  out  of  the  hole  you  will  find  there, 
and  gently  knock  your  ball  into  the  hole. 
That  is  all  there  is  to  the  game." 

"But  what  shall  I  do,"  I  asked,  "if  my  first 
knock  at  the  ball  carries  it  beyond  the  flag?  " 

Mr.  Millington  glanced  at  the  patent 
putter  I  held  in  my  hand,  and  sighed. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said,  "but  the  rules  of 
the  game  permit  one  to  grasp  the  club  with 
both  hands." 

"I  guess,"  I  said  airily,  "until  I  get  the 
swing  of  it  I  will  grasp  the  club  with  one  hand. 
I  only  use  one  hand  in  playing  croquet." 

"In  that  case,"  said  Mr.  Millington,  "if 
you  knock  the  ball  past  the  flag  I  will  eat  the 
flag.  I  will  also  eat  the  ball.  Also  the  thing 


"He  merely  said,   "Well,  if  this  instrument  cf  torture 
is  a  putter,  Pit  eat  it" 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  167 

you  call  a  putter.  If  you  knock  the  ball  half 
way  to  the  flag,  I  will  eat  all  the  grass  on  this 
golf  course." 

"Be  careful,  Millington,"  I  warned  him. 
"You  may  have  to  eat  that  grass.  Now, 
stand  back  and  let  me  have  a  fair  whack 
at  the  ball." 

With  that  I  swung  the  putter  around  my 
head  two  or  three  times,  to  gather  the  neces 
sary  impetus,  and  then  hit  the  ball  a  terrible 
whack.  I  put  my  full  strength  into  the  blowr, 
for  I  wanted  to  show  Millington  that  I  had 
the  making  of  a  golfer  in  me;  but  when  my 
putter  ceased  revolving  around  me  Milling- 
ton  seemed  unimpressed.  I  put  my  hand 
above  my  eyes  and  gazed  into  the  far  distance, 
hoping  to  catch  sight  of  the  ball  when  it 
alighted.  But  I  did  not  see  it. 

"Millington,"  I  said,  "did  you  see  where 
that  ball  went?" 

"I  did,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  left.  "It 
went  over  there,  into  that  tall  grass.  It  is 
a  lost  ball.  Every  ball  that  goes  into  that 


168  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

tall  grass  is  gone  forever.  I  have  nevei 
known  any  one  to  recover  a  ball  that  fell  in 
that  tall  grass." 

Then  he  stepped  proudly  to  the  sand-box 
and  made  another  tee. 

"Hand  me  a  ball,"  he  said,  "and  I  will 
show  you  the  proper  way  to  hit  it." 

I  gave  him  a  ball  and  he  placed  it  carefully 
on  the  tee.  Then  he  grasped  his  driver 
in  both  hands,  snuggled  the  head  of  it  up 
to  the  ball  lovingly,  drew  back  the  club  and 
struck  the  ball.  I  was  not  quick  enough  to 
see  the  ball  go,  but  Millington  was. 

44  Fine ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  sliced  it  a  little, 
but  I  must  have  got  good  distance.  I  must 
have  driven  that  ball  two  hundred  yards." 

"But  where  did  it  go?"  I  asked. 

"Well,"  said  Millington,  "I  did  slice  it  a 
little.  It  went  off  there  to  the  right,  into 
that  tall  grass.  It  is  a  lost  ball.  I  have 
never  known  any  one  to  recover  a  ball  that  fell 
in  that  tall  grass.  But  let  me  have  another 
ball  and  I  will  show  you " 


iWffe 


*"  When  my  putter  ceased  revolving  around  me  MilHngton 
seemed  unimpressed" 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE    169 

I  told  Millington  I  guessed  I  would  lose 
a  couple  of  balls  myself  while  I  had  a  few 
left,  if  it  was  not  against  the  rules.  He  said 
no,  a  player  could  lose  as  many  as  he  wished ; 
in  fact  many  players  lost  more  than  they 
wished. 

I  found  this  to  be  so.  We  played  around 
the  nine  holes  and  I  made  a  score  of  114, 
and  Millington  was  delighted.  He  said  it 
was  a  splendid  score  to  turn  in  to  the  handi 
capping  committee,  and  that  he  wished  he 
could  make  a  large,  safe  score  like  that.  He 
said  no  one  in  the  club  had  ever  made  more 
than  110  and  that  the  average  was  about  45. 
Then  he  said  I  need  not  lose  hope,  for  at  any 
rate  I  had  not  lost  a  ball  at  every  stroke. 
He  said  he  had  imagined  when  he  saw  me 
play  that  I  would  lose  a  ball  at  every  stroke, 
for  my  style  of  playing  —  my  "form"  he 
called  it --was  the  sort  that  ought  to  lose 
me  one  ball  for  every  stroke. 

When  I  reached  home  I  found  Isobel 
awaiting  me,  and,  without  thinking,  I  blurted 


170    ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

out  that  I  had  lost  thirty-eight  golf  balls. 
Her  mouth  hardened. 

"John,"  she  said,  "I  have  been  talking 
with  Mrs.  Rolfs  and  Mrs.  Millington  about 
this  game  of  golf,  and  what  they  say  has  given 
me  an  entirely  different  opinion  of  it.  When 
I  advised  you  to  take  it  up  I  had  no  idea  it 
was  a  gambling  game,  but  they  both  tell  me 
the  matches  are  often  played  for  a  stake  of 
balls.  Mrs.  Rolfs  says  her  husband  has 
accumulated  eighty  balls  in  this  way,  and 
Mrs.  Millington  says  her  husband  has  laid 
up  a  store  of  over  fifty.  And  now,  when 
you  come  home  and  tell  me  you  have  lost, 
in  one  afternoon,  thirty-eight  golf  balls,  at  a 
cost  of  fifty  cents  each,  I  feel  that  golf  is  a 
wicked,  sinful  game.  I  do  not  want  to  seem 
severe,  but  I  do  not  approve  of  gambling, 
and  if  you  continue  to  lose  so  many  golf  balls 
you  will  have  to  give  up  the  game." 


ADVANCED  GOLF 


X 

Advanced  Golf 

THAT  evening  Milling! on  dropped  over 
to  chat  for  a  few  minutes,  and  he 
was  in  good  spirits.  He  told  me  he 
had  found  the  automobile  where  I  had  left 
it  with  its  nose  against  the  tree,  and  that  it 
had  been  necessary  to  hire  a  team  to  pull  it 
home.  Isobel  said  she  would  never  forget 
the  pleased  expression  on  Millington's  face 
as  he  saw  the  helpless  machine  being  towed 
into  his  yard,  and  between  what  both  of 
them  said  I  felt  rightly  proud  at  having  lifted 
such  a  load  from  his  mind. 

"Now,"  said  Millington  cheerfully,  "we 
can  all  start  for  Port  Lafayette  in  the  morn 
ing.  I  will  get  up  at  four  to-morrow  morn 
ing  and  tinker  at  the  motor,  and  by  nine, 
or  ten  at  the  latest,  we  will  be  ready  to  start." 

173 


174  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

At  ten  the  next  morning,  therefore,  Isobel 
and  I  went  over  to  Millington's  garage, 
but  our  first  glimpse  of  him  told  us  all  was 
not  well.  He  was  sitting  on  the  garage  step 
with  his  head  buried  in  his  arms,  while  his 
wife  was  sitting  beside  him,  vainly  endeavour 
ing  to  console  him.  For  awhile  he  made  no 
response  to  my  queries,  and  then  he  only 
raised  his  mournful  face  and  pointed  at  the 
automobile.  He  was  too  overcome  for  words, 
and  his  wife  had  to  give  us  the  awful  facts. 

"This  morning  at  four,"  she  said,  "Edward 
came  out  and  prepared  to  do  what  he  could 
to  repair  the  motor  you  had  so  kindly  put 
to  the  bad.  He  was  then  his  usual,  cheerful 
self.  He  leaped  lightly  into  the  chauffeur's 
seat,  touched  the  starting  lever,  and,  to  his 
utter  distress,  the  automobile  moved  smooth 
ly  out  of  the  garage  and  down  the  driveway, 
without  a  single  misplaced  throb  or  sign  of 
disorder.  There  was  nothing  the  matter 
with  the  automobile  at  all.  Not  a  thing 
to  repair.  It  was  as  if  it  had  just  come  from 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE    175 

the  factory.  Of  course  he  immediately  gave 
up  all  idea  of  the  little  run  to  Port  Lafayette. 
Now,  there  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done. 
You  must  take  the  machine  and  run  it 
around  the  block  until  it  is  in  a  fit  condition 
to  be  repaired.  I  am  afraid  you  did  not  do 
a  good  job  yesterday." 

Although  I  felt  rather  hurt  by  the  last 
words,  I  was  not  a  man  to  desert  Millington 
in  his  need,  and  without  a  word  I  jumped 
into  the  automobile  and  started.  That  morn 
ing  I  put  in  some  hard  work.  It  seemed 
that  the  automobile  had  repaired  itself  so 
well  that  nothing  would  ever  be  the  matter 
with  it  again,  but  by  persistent  efforts  and 
by  doing  everything  an  amateur  could  pos 
sibly  do  to  ruin  an  automobile,  I  succeeded 
in  developing  its  weak  spots.  Not  until 
noon  was  I  satisfied,  but  when  the  horses 
at  last  pulled  the  automobile  into  Milling- 
ton's  garage  I  felt  I  had  done  my  duty.  I 
had  mashed  the  hood  and  cracked  a  cylinder, 
dished  the  left  front  wheel  and  absolutely 


176  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

ruined  all  the  battery  connections.  I  would 
have  defied  any  man  to  make  that  automobile 
run  one  inch.  It  had  been  hard  work,  but 
I  was  amply  repaid  when  Millington  threw 
his  arms  around  me  and  wept  for  joy  on 
my  shoulder.  He  was  not  usually  a  demon 
strative  man. 

"Next  week,  or  the  week  after,  John," 
he  said  cheerfully,  as  he  took  off  his  coat, 
"I  may  have  the  machine  patched  up  a  little, 
and  we  will  take  that  little  run  out  to  Port 
Lafayette.  I  feel  that  the  trip  has  been 
delayed  too  long  already,  and  I  shall  get  to 
work  at  once." 

"If  you  wish,"  I  said,  "I  will  lend  you 
Mr.  Prawley  to  hold  things  while  you  work 
on  them." 

"Prawley?"  said  Millington.  "Prawley? 
That  man  of  yours?  No,  thank  you,  John. 
That  man  Prawley  is  so  fearful  of  automobiles 
that  he  trembles  at  the  sight  of  a  pair  of 
goggles.  He  would  die  of  fear  if  we  forced 
him  into  this  garage." 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  177 

I  left  Millington  whistling  over  his  work, 
and  that  afternoon  I  took  my  putter  and  went 
to  the  golf  grounds  alone,  for  I  had  spent 
half  the  night  reading  the  golf  book  Mr. 
Rolfs  had  lent  me,  and  I  saw  I  had  not  gone 
at  the  game  in  the  right  way.  I  knew  now 
that  I  should  have  held  my  club  with  my 
right  hand  more  to  the  right  —  or  to  the  left 
—  and  my  right  foot  nearer  the  ball --or 
not  so  near  it  —  and  with  the  head  of  my 
club  heeled  up  more  —  or  not  so  much.  The 
directions  given  by  the  book  were  very 
explicit.  They  said  a  player  must  invariably 
lay  his  thumb  along  the  shaft  of  the  club, 
unless  he  wrrapped  it  around  the  shaft,  or 
let  it  stick  up  like  a  sore  toe,  or  cut  it  off  and 
got  along  without  it,  or  did  something  else 
with  it.  The  book  seemed  to  imply  that  the 
proper  way  for  a  beginner  to  learn  golf 
was  to  lock  himself  in  a  dark  closet  and  in 
dulge  in  silent  meditation  until  he  became 
an  expert  player,  but  the  closets  in  my  house 
were  so  narrow  and  shallow  I  felt  I  could 


178  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

not  meditate  broadly  in  them.  So  I  went  to 
the  Country  Club. 

I  met  young  Weldorf  there,  and  as  soon 
as  he  saw  me  he  immediately  proposed  a 
round.  He  said  he  had  wanted  to  play  a 
round  with  me  ever  since  he  had  heard  of 
my  clubs.  He  said  he  hoped  I  would  not 
mind  his  dog  being  along,  for  the  dog  took 
a  lively  interest  in  the  game  of  golf. 

So  I  told  Weldorf  I  loved  dogs  and  that  I 
thought  a  dog  or  two  scattered  around  the 
links  added  greatly  to  the  picturesqueness 
of  the  game.  Weldorf's  dog  was  a  rather 
thin  dog,  of  the  white  terrier  kind,  with 
black  spots,  and  Weldorf  explained  that  the 
reason  there  were  bare,  flesh-coloured  spots 
on  the  dog  was  because  he  was  just  recover 
ing  from  an  attack  of  mange. 

Weldorf  drove  first,  and  a  beautiful  drive 
it  was,  and  with  a  gay  bark  the  dog  darted 
after  the  ball,  but  Weldorf  spoke  to  him 
sternly,  and  he  stopped  short,  although  he  still 
gazed  after  the  ball  yearningly.  Then  I 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  179 

drove.  I  exerted  the  whole  of  my  enormous 
strength  in  that  drive,  and  I  think  I  surprised 
Weldorf.  I  know  I  surprised  the  dog.  If 
I  had  been  that  dog,  I,  too,  would  have 
been  surprised.  There  stood  the  dog,  look 
ing  at  Weldorf  s  ball,  wagging  his  tail  and 
thinking  of  nothing,  and  here  came  my  ball 
with  terrific  speed.  Suddenly  the  ball  hit 
the  dog  on  the  hip  with  a  splashy  sort  of 
smack,  and  immediately  the  dog  was  im 
pelled  forward  and  upward,  giving  voice, 
as  we  dog-fanciers  say.  He  gave  voice  three 
times  while  in  the  air,  and  when  he  alighted 
he  put  his  tail  between  his  legs  and  dashed 
madly  away. 

We  were  not  able  to  retrieve  the  dog  until 
we  reached  the  third  teeing  ground,  and  then 
I  apologized  to  him.  He  did  not  accept 
my  apology.  He  looked  upon  my  most 
friendly  advances  with  unjust  suspicion.  He 
seemed  to  have  no  faith  in  my  game,  and  kept 
well  to  the  rear  of  me,  but  when  WTeldorf 
addressed  him  in  a  few  well-chosen  words  he 


180    ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

unlooped  his  tail  and  wagged  it  in  a  half 
hearted  sort  of  way.  I  decided  to  ignore 
the  dog.  I  raised  the  hinged  lid  of  the  sand 
box  and  took  out  a  large  handful  of  sand  to 
form  my  tee,  and  letting  the  lid  fall  took  a 
step  forward. 

Immediately  the  dog  gave  voice!  Wel- 
dorf  had  to  raise  the  lid  of  the  sand-box  before 
the  dog  was  able  to  get  his  tail  out,  but  as 
soon  as  he  had  reassumed  full  control  of  his 
tail  he  placed  it  firmly  between  his  legs  and 
dashed  madly  away.  It  is  nonsense  to  have 
a  golf  dog  with  a  long  tail. 

By  the  time  we  reached  the  sixth  putting- 
green  the  dog  had  begun  to  get  lonely,  and 
assumed  a  cheerful  demeanour.  He  re 
turned  to  us  with  ingratiating  poses,  mainly 
sliding  along  the  ground  on  his  stomach  as 
he  approached,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  him 
happy  again,  for  I  love  dogs  and  I  like  to  have 
them  happy.  He  stood  afar  off,  however, 
until  he  saw  our  balls  on  the  putting-green. 
He  knew  that  golfers  do  not  "putt"  as 


Immediately  the  dog  was  impelled  forward  and  up 
ward,  giving  voice" 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE    181 

strenuously  as  they  "drive."  Then  he  came 
nearer.  I  took  the  flag-pole  from  the  hole 
and  let  it  fall  gracefully  to  the  ground. 
Without  an  instant  of  hesitation  the  dog  gave 
voice!  It  was  a  long  flag-pole,  made  of  a 
plump  bamboo  fish-rod,  and  when  it  fell  it 
seemed  to  strike  directly  on  the  eighth  dorsal 
vertebra  of  the  dog,  at  a  spot  where  he  was 
not  recovering  very  well  from  the  mange. 

Weldorf  said  he  had  no  doubt  the  dog 
would  find  his  way  home,  and  we  stood  and 
listened  until  the  voice  the  dog  was  giving 
died  away  in  the  far  distance,  and  then  we 
holed  out.  It  is  nonsense  for  a  dog  to  have 
dorsal  vertebrae. 

When  we  reached  the  seventh  hole  I  found 
that  the  grounds  committee  was  already 
using  my  initiation  fee,  for  the  grass  mowers 
were  at  work  there,  and  a  man  with  a  rake 
immediately  stepped  up  to  me,  and  said 
in  the  most  friendly  manner  that  he  would 
be  willing  to  part  with  some  golf  balls  for 
money,  if  I  would  say  nothing  about  it  to 


182  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

the  Board   of   Governors.     He  had   sixteen, 

/ 

nine  of  which  I  recognized  as  some  of  those 
I  had  lost  the  day  before,  and  he  very  gener 
ously  offered  to  let  me  have  the  lot  at  fifteen 
cents  each.  I  purchased  them  eagerly,  and 
the  man  who  was  driving  the  mower  at  once 
descended  and  offered  me  twelve  more  at  the 
same  price.  Between  there  and  the  ninth 
hole  numerous  caddies  appeared  from  behind 
trees  and  bunkers  and  offered  me  balls  at 
ridiculously  low  prices,  and  I,  quite  naturally, 
took  advantage  of  their  offers. 

When  I  reached  home  Isobel  asked  me 
how  I  was  progressing  with  my  game.  "Well/* 
I  said,  "I  return  with  forty-two  more  golf 
balls  than  I  had  when  I  went  out." 

Instantly  her  face  brightened.  She  con 
gratulated  me  warmly  and  said  she  was  sure 
Mrs.  Rolfs  and  Mrs.  Millington  had  over 
stated  the  evils  of  the  game.  She  said  she 
thought  she  could  see  an  improvement  in  my 
health  already.  She  advised  me  to  keep  at  the 
game  until  my  health  was  beyond  compare. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE    183 

I  now  know  that  the  book  Mr.  Rolfs  lent 
me  is  mere  piffle  and  that,  for  a  man  who 
takes  his  golf  in  the  right  way,  a  broom  or 
a  hairpin  is  as  good  as  any  other  tool.  I 
enjoy  the  game  immensely,  and  find  it  great 
sport.  Often  I  come  home  with  fifty  golf 
balls,  and  my  low  record  is  eighteen  —  but 
that  was  a  legal  holiday  and  the  grass  mowers 
were  on  vacation.  I  have  so  many  golf 
balls  in  the  house  already  that  Isobel  talks 
of  having  an  addition  built  over  the  kitchen 
for  storage  purposes.  As  my  game  has  im 
proved  I  have  acquired  such  dexterity  that 
I  can  buy  balls  from  the  caddies  at  the  rate 
of  four  for  twenty-five  cents.  If  I  practise 
regularly  I  believe  I  shall  in  time  reach  a 
point  where  I  can  buy  balls  for  five  cents 
each.  By  holes,  my  best  score  is  thirty-eight 
balls,  made  at  the  eighth  hole  on  July  6th, 
from  the  red-headed  caddy  and  the  fat  mow 
ing  man.  My  low  score  is  one  ball,  made 
August  16th,  at  the  first  hole.  I  never 
make  a  large  score  there,  as  it  is  near  the 


184  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

club  house  and  the  caddies  are  afraid  of  the 
Board  of  Governors. 

When  golf  is  taken  rightly  it  arouses  the 
instincts  of  the  chase  in  a  man,  and  I  now 
feel  the  same  joy  in  running  down  a  caddy 
and  bargaining  for  found  balls  that  others 
feel  in  hunting  wild  animals.  Golf,  taken 
thus,  is  a  splendid  game. 

And  I  have  found  that  if  I  use  my  putter 
only,  and  knock  the  ball  but  a  few  yards 
each  stroke,  there  is  no  need  of  losing  a  ball 
from  one  end  of  the  year  to  the  other.  But 
even  then  one  must  remember  the  cardinal 
rule  of  all  golfers — "Keep  the  eye  on  the 
ball." 


MY  DOMESTICATED 
AUTOMOBILE 


XI 

My  Domesticated  Automobile 

1HAVE  said  that  I  left  Millington  happily 
working  over  his  automobile  when  I  went 
to  the  Country  Club  that  afternoon. 
When  I  returned  he  was  still  working  away, 
and  so  well  had  I  wrecked  his  car  that  all  his 
repairing  seemed  to  have  made  not  the  slight 
est  impression  on  it. 

"John,"  he  said  brightly,  "you  certainly 
did  a  good  job.  It  will  be  months  before 
I  have  this  car  in  any  shape  at  all,  I  am  sure. 
It  is  going  to  take  all  my  spare  time,  too. 
I  mean  to  set  my  alarm  clock  for  three,  and 
get  up  at  that  time  every  morning." 

It  is  always  a  pleasure  for  me  to  see  another 
man  happy,  and  at  half-past  two  the  next 
morning  I  was  waiting  for  Millington  at 
his  garage  door.  He  came  out  of  his  house 

187 


188  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

promptly  at  three,  and  joked  merrily  as  he 
unlocked  the  garage  door,  but  the  moment 
he  threw  open  the  door  his  face  fell.  And 
well  it  might!  The  dished  wheel  had  been 
trued,  the  crushed  hood  had  been  straightened 
and  painted,  a  new  cylinder  had  replaced 
the  cracked  one,  and  when  Millington  tried 
the  engine  it  ran  without  a  sound  except  that 
of  a  perfectly  working  piece  of  well-adjusted 
machinery.  Millington  got  out  of  the  car 
and  stood  staring  at  the  motor,  and  suddenly, 
with  a  low  cry  of  anguish,  he  fell  over  back 
ward  as  stiff  as  a  log.  Mrs.  Millington  and 
I  managed  to  carry  him  to  bed,  and  then  I 
returned  to  the  garage.  I  was  not  going  to 
desert  Millington  in  his  adversity. 

After  the  doctor  had  visited  the  house, 
Mrs.  Millington  came  out  and  told  me  that 
her  husband  was  still  in  a  comatose  state, 
due  to  brain-shock,  but  that  he  kept  re 
peating  "Sell  it!  Sell  it!"  over  and  over, 
and  she  was  sure  he  must  mean  the  car.  She 
said  that  while  she  would  hate  to  part  with 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  189 

the  car,  and  give  up  all  the  pleasure  of  start 
ing  for  Port  Lafayette,  she  feared  for  her 
husband's  reason  if  he  continued  to  receive 
such  shocks,  and  she  was  willing  to  sacrifice 
the  car  at  a  very  lo\v  price,  if  I  insisted.  She 
said  I  had  not,  like  Millington,  become 
habituated  to  hearing  a  knocking  in  the  engine, 
so  the  lack  of  it  would  not  bother  me,  and  that 
owning  a  car  that  repaired  itself  over  night 
was  what  most  automobile  owners  would 
call  a  golden  opportunity. 

I  suppose  if  I  had  come  home  and  said  to 
Isobel:  "My  dear,  I  have  bought  an  Asiatic 
hyena,"  she  would  have  been  less  shocked 
and  surprised  than  she  was  when  I  entered 
the  house  and  said:  "Well,  my  dear,  I  have 
bought  an  automobile." 

Isobel  is  of  a  rather  nervous  disposition, 
and  driving  behind  Bob,  our  horse,  had  tended 
to  eliminate  any  latent  speed  mania  she  may 
have  ever  had,  for  Bob  is  not  a  rapid  horse. 
Of  course,  Isobel  drove  the  horse  at  a  trot 
occasionally,  but  that  was  when  she  wanted 


190  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

to  go  slower  than  a  walk,  for  Bob  was  what 
may  be  called  an  upright  trotter  —  one  of 
those  horses  that  trot  like  a  grasshopper: 
the  harder  they  trot  the  higher  they  rise 
in  the  air,  and  the  less  ground  they  cover. 
When  Bob  was  in  fine  fettle,  as  we  horsemen 
say,  he  could  trot  for  hours  with  a  perpen 
dicular  motion,  like  a  sewing  machine  needle, 
and  remain  in  one  identical  spot  the  whole 
time.  He  could  trot  tied  to  a  post.  Some 
times  when  he  was  feeling  his  oats  he  could 
trot  backward. 

I  suppose  that  when  I  mentioned  automo 
bile  Isobel  had  a  vision  of  a  bright-red  car 
about  twenty-five  feet  long,  with  a  tonnage 
like  an  ocean  steamer,  and  a  speed  of  one  hun 
dred  and  ten  miles  an  hour  —  one  of  the 
machines  that  flash  by  with  a  wail  of  agony 
and  kill  a  couple  of  men  just  around  the  next 
corner.  But  Millington's  automobile  was  not 
that  kind.  It  was  a  tried  and  tested  affair.  It 
had  been  in  a  Christian  family  for  five  years, 
and  was  well  broken.  Nor  was  it  a  long  auto-^ 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE    191 

mobile;  it  was  one  of  the  shortest  automobiles 
I  have  ever  seen;  indeed,  I  do  not  think  I  ever 
saw  such  a  short  automobile.  "Short  and 
high"  seemed  to  have  been  the  maker's  motto, 
and  he  had  lived  up  to  it.  He  couldn't 
have  made  the  automobile  any  shorter  with 
out  having  cogs  on  the  tires,  so  they  could 
overlap.  If  the  automobile  had  been  much 
shorter  the  rear  wheels  would  have  been  in 
front  of  the  fore  wheels.  But  what  it  lacked 
in  length  it  made  up  in  altitude.  It  averaged 
pretty  well,  multiplying  the  height  by  the 
length.  It  was  the  type  known  in  the  pro 
fession  as  the  "camel  type."  When  in  action 
it  had  a  motion  somewhat  like  a  camel,  too, 
but  more  like  a  small  boat  on  a  wintry,  wind- 
tossed  sea.  But,  ah !  the  engine !  There  was  a 
noble  heart  in  that  weak  body !  When  the  en 
gine  was  in  average  knocking  condition,  one 
knew  when  it  started.  In  two  minutes  after  the 
engine  started  the  driver  was  on  the  ground; 
if  he  did  not  become  dizzy,  sitting  at  such  a 
height,  and  fall  off,  the  engine  shook  him  off. 


192  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

But,  if  Isobel  did  not  take  kindly  to  the 
idea  of  owning  Millington's  automobile,  Rolfs 
seemed  glad  I  was  going  to  buy  it. 

"You  won't  be  everlastingly  asking  me  to 
take  a  little  run  up  to  Port  Lafayette,"  he 
said.  "For  years  before  you  moved  out 
here  Millington  bothered  the  life  out  of 
me,  and  I  cannot  bear  riding  in  automo 
biles.  I  hate  them  worse  than  that  hired 
man  of  yours  does.  How  does  he  like  the 
idea?" 

I  told  him,  rather  haughtily,  that  I  did 
not  usually  consult  Mr.  Prawley  when  I 
bought  automobiles.  Then  Rolfs  said  he 
thought,  usually,  it  was  just  as  well  for  an 
ignorant  man  to  consult  some  one,  but  that 
he  knew  Millington's  automobile  was  a  good 
one.  He  said  he  knew  the  man  that  had 
owned  the  machine  ten  or  twelve  years  before 
Millington  bought  it.  He  said  that  every 
one  knew  that  machines  of  that  make  that 
were  made  in  1895  were  extremely  durable. 
He  said  he  remembered  about  this  one  par- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE     193 

ticularly,  because  it  was  the  period  when 
milk  shakes  were  the  popular  drink,  and  his 
friend  used  to  make  his  own.  He  said  his 
friend  would  put  the  ingredients  in  a  bottle, 
and  tie  the  bottle  to  the  automobile  seat, 
and  then  start  the  engine  for  a  minute  or 
two,  and  the  milk  would  be  completely 
shaken.  So  would  his  friend. 

Rolfs  asked  me  to  let  him  know  when  I 
brought  the  automobile  over  from  Milling- 
ton's.  I  had  no  difficulty  in  doing  so.  When 
I  ran  that  automobile  the  only  difficulty 
was  in  concealing  the  fact  that  it  was  arriv 
ing  anywhere  and  in  getting  it  to  arrive. 
Often  it  preferred  not  to  arrive  at  all,  but 
when  it  did  arrive,  it  gave  every  one  notice. 
Isobel  never  had  to  wonder  whether  I  was 
arriving  in  my  machine,  or  whether  it  was 
some  visitor  in  another  machine.  Under 
my  regime  my  machine  had  a  sweet,  purring 
sound  like  a  road-roller  loaded  with  scrap 
iron  crossing  a  cobblestone  bridge.  When 
the  engine  was  going  and  the  car  was  not, 


194  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

it  sounded  like  giant  fire-crackers  exploding 
under  a  dish  pan. 

The  very  day  I  purchased  the  car  and 
brought  it  into  my  yard  Mr.  Prawley  came 
to  me  and  told  me  he  had  a  very  important 
communication  to  make.  He  said  his  poor 
old  mother  was  sick,  and  he  would  like  a 
month's  vacation.  He  added  that  he  imag 
ined  the  automobile  would  last  about  twenty- 
nine  days.  As  he  said  this  his  lean,  villain 
ous  face  wore  a  look  of  fear,  and  when  I 
told  him  he  could  have  the  vacation,  he  de 
parted,  walking  backward,  keeping  one  eye 
on  the  automobile  all  the  while. 

But  the  automobile  did  not  behave  in 
the  bewitched  manner  for  me  that  it  had  for 
Millington.  It  did  not  repair  itself  over 
night  at  all.  If  anything  it  deteriorated. 

Oddly  enough,  now  that  the  automobile 
was  quite  tame,  Isobel,  who  usually  has 
perfect  confidence  in  me,  declined  to  ride 
in  it.  But  frequently  we  took  rides  together, 
driving  side  by  side,  she  in  her  buggy  behind 


Isabel  enjoyed  these  little  moments  exceedingly" 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  195 

Bob,  and  I  in  my  automobile,  and,  occasion 
ally,  when  the  road  was  rough  and  the  engine 
working  well,  I  would  drop  in  on  her  un 
expectedly.  But  not  always.  Sometimes  I 
fell  off  on  the  other  side. 

I  found  these  little  trips  very  pleasant  and 
exceedingly  good  for  a  torpid  liver  —  if  I 
had  had  one  —  and  I  enjoyed  having  Isobel 
with  me,  especially  when  we  came  to  bits  of 
sandy  road  where  the  rear  wheels  of  my  auto 
mobile  would  revolve  uselessly,  as  if  for  the 
mere  pleasure  of  revolving. 

Then  I  would  unhitch  Bob  from  the  buggy 
and  hitch  him  to  the  automobile,  and  he 
would  tow  me  over  the  sandy  stretch,  aided 
by  the  engine.  It  was  a  pretty  picture  to 
see  this  helpfulness,  one  to  the  other,  es 
pecially  when  my  engine  was  palpitating  in 
its  wild,  vibratory  manner,  and  Bob  was 
trotting  at  full  speed,  while  I  fell  out  of  the 
automobile,  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the 
other. 

Isobel    enjoyed  these    little  moments  ex- 


196  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

ceedingly  and  often  I  had  to  go  back  to  her, 
after  I  had  passed  the  sandy  spot,  and  pat 
her  on  the  back  until  she  could  get  her  breath 
again.  She  had  to  admit  that  she  had  never 
imagined  she  could  get  so  much  pleasure  out 
of  an  automobile.  But  it  was  that  kind  of 
an  automobile  —  any  one  could  get  more 
pleasure  out  of  it  than  in  it. 

I  myself  found  that  after  the  first  novelty 
wore  off  automobiling  became  a  bore.  As 
a  method  of  securing  pleasure  the  cost  per 
gallon  to  each  unit  of  joy  was  too  high, 
in  that  machine.  Riding  in  my  machine 
was  not  what  is  called  "joy  riding."  It  was 
more  like  a  malady. 

Of  course  we  never  attempted  a  long  tour, 
like  that  to  Port  Lafayette,  which  is  eleven 
miles  from  Westcote,  and  it  was  about  the 
time  my  tire  troubles  began  that  I  thought 
of  domesticating  my  automobile.  I  remem 
ber  with  what  pride  I  discovered  my  first 
puncture.  Every  automobile  owner  of  my 
acquaintance  had  tire  troubles,  and  I  had 


"Riding  in  my  machine  was  not  what  is   called  'joy 
riding'" 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE    197 

never  had  any,  and  I  felt  slighted.  Some 
times  I  felt  tempted  to  take  an  awl  and  punct 
ure  a  tire  myself,  so  I,  too,  could  talk  about 
my  tire  troubles,  but  I  had  a  feeling  that  that 
would  be  unprofessional.  I  had  never  heard 
of  any  real  sporty  automobilist  punching 
holes  in  his  tires  with  awls ;  in  fact  they  seemed 
to  consider  there  was  no  particular  pleasure 
in  punctured  tires.  That  was  the  way  they 
talked  —  as  if  a  puncture  was  a  misfortune 
—  but  I  knew  better.  I  could  hear  the  under 
current  of  pride  in  their  voices  as  they  an 
nounced:  "Well,  I  had  three  punctures  and 
two  blow-outs  yesterday.  I  was  running 
along  slowly,  about  fifty-five  miles  an  hour, 
between  Oyster  Bay  and  Huntington,  when 
And  then  the  next  man  would  pipe 
up  and  say:  "Yes?  Well,  I  beat  that.  I 
was  speeding  a  little  —  not  much,  but  about 
sixty  miles  an  hour  —  on  the  Jericho  Turn 
pike  last  night,  and  all  four  tires And 

through  it  all  I  had  to  sit  silent.     I  longed  to 
be  able  to  say:     "I  was  speeding  along  yes- 


198     ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

terday  at  about  half  a  mile  an  hour,  the 
machine  going  better  than  usual,  when  sud 
denly  I  jumped  out  and  stuck  my  penknife 

into  the  forward,  left-hand  tire "  I  had 

never  had  a  puncture.  I  was  not  in  their 
class. 

But  my  turn  came.  I  was  speeding  a 
little  —  about  one  city  block  every  five 
minutes  —  on  Thirteenth  Street,  when  my 
sparker  stopped  sparking.  When  your  engine 
misses  fire  there  are  six  hundred  and  forty- 
two  things  that  may  be  the  matter,  and  after 
you  have  tested  the  six  hundred  and  forty- 
two,  it  may  be  an  entirely  new  six  hundred 
and  forty-third  trouble.  I  have  known  a 
man  to  try  the  full  six  hundred  and  forty- 
two  remedies  unavailingly,  and  then  sigh  and 
wipe  his  goggles,  and  the  engine  began  work 
ing  beautifully.  And  it  was  only  by  chance  — 
pure  chance  —  that  he  happened  to  wipe  his 
goggles.  Probably  he  had  not  wiped  them 
for  years.  But  after  that  the  first  thing  he 
did  when  his  engine  did  not  fire  was  to  wipe 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  199 

them.  And  never,  never  again  did  it  have 
the  least  effect  on  the  engine.  That  is  one 
of  the  peculiar  things  about  an  automobile. 
And  there  are  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
other  peculiar  things,  each  of  which  is  more 
peculiar  than  all  the  rest. 

I  had  just  taken  my  automobile  apart  to 
discover  why  the  engine  did  not  work,  and 
the  various  pieces  of  its  anatomy  were  scat 
tered  up  and  down  the  street  for  a  block 
or  more,  and  I  was  hunting  up  another  piece 
to  take  out,  when  I  noticed  that  one  of  my 
tires  was  flat.  I  had  a  puncture!  I  suppose 
I  would  have  thrilled  with  joy  at  any  other 
time,  but  just  after  a  man  has  dissected  his 
automobile  is  no  time  for  him  to  thrill.  He 
has  other  things  to  amuse  him.  I  have  even 
known  a  man  who  had  just  discovered  that 
his  last  battery  had  gone  dead  to  swear  a 
little  when  he  discovered  that  two  tires  had 
also  gone  flat. 

It  was  when  I  was  pumping  up  that  new 
inner  tube  that  I  decided  to  domesticate  my 


200    ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

automobile.  It  seemed  to  be  a  shame  to 
take  such  a  delicate  piece  of  machinery  out 
on  the  rough,  unfeeling  road,  and  I  remem 
bered  that  Rolfs  had  told  me  of  a  Philadel 
phia  friend  of  his  who  had  half  domesticated 
his  automobile.  Rolfs  said  that  once,  when 
he  was  foolish,  he  had  ridden  half  an  hour, 
out  to  his  friend's  farm,  and  there  the  auto 
mobile  was  jacked  up  and  a  belt  attached 
to  one  of  the  rear  wheels,  and  in  less  than 
five  minutes  the  car  was  doing  duty  as  a 
piece  of  farm  machinery,  running  a  feed 
cutter.  Rolfs  said  it  was  great.  He  said 
it  was  the  only  time  he  ever  felt  satisfied 
that  an  automobile  was  getting  what  it 
deserved.  He  said  that  all  the  men  had  to 
do  was  to  keep  the  fodder-cutter  fed  with 
fodder,  and  that  it  kept  two  farm  hands 
busy.  He  said  I  ought  to  get  some  fodder 
and  cut  it  that  way  and  stop  being  an  ob 
struction  in  the  public  highways.  He  sug 
gested  that  I  get  some  wood  and  saw  wood 
with  the  automobile,  or  get  some  apples  and 


"7  had  just  taken  my  automobile  apart 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE    201 

make  cider.  He  suggested  a  thousand  things 
I  could  do  with  the  automobile,  and  not  one 
of  them  was  riding  in  it. 

I  had  tried  riding  in  it  myself,  and  after 
owning  it  a  week  or  two  I  decided  it  was  just 
the  kind  of  automobile  that  was  meant  to 
do  general  household  work.  So  I  domesti 
cated  it. 


MR.  PRAWLEY  RETURNS 


XII 

Mr.  Prawley  Returns 

MARY  was  one  of  the  most  faithful 
servants  a  family  ever  had.  Her 
faithfulness  deserves  this  monu 
ment.  She  was  a  Pole  and  she  could  not  pro 
nounce  her  own  name.  She  tried  to  pronounce 
it  the  first  day  she  came  to  us,  but  along  to 
ward  the  sixth  or  seventh  syllable  she  became 
confused  and  had  to  give  it  up.  She  said  it 
was  Schneider  in  English.  Perhaps  the  reason 
she  remained  with  us  so  long  was  because 
she  had  brought  her  Polish  name  with 
her,  and  it  was  too  much  trouble  to  move 
it  from  place  to  place.  When  she  once 
got  in  a  place,  she  liked  to  stay  there.  But 
"Schneider"  was  about  the  only  English 
word  she  knew,  and  this  made  it  a  little 
difficult  to  explain  to  her  that  I  had  domes- 

205 


206  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

ticated  the  automobile  and  would  allow  her 
to  use  it  on  wash  day.  I  had  to  make  a  picture 
of  it,  and  even  then  she  seemed  rather  doubt 
ful  about  it. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  all  very  simple, 
but  Mary  Schneider  was  stupid.  We  already 
had  the  washing  machine,  and  we  had  the 
automobile,  and  it  was  only  necessary  to 
connect  the  rear  wheel  of  the  automobile 
with  the  drive  wheel  of  the  washing  machine 
by  means  of  a  belt,  jack  up  the  rear  axle  of 
the  automobile,  and  start  the  engine.  I 
hoped  in  time  to  go  further  than  this  and  hitch 
up  the  coffee  mill,  the  carpet-sweeper,  the 
ice-cream  freezer,  and  all  our  other  household 
machinery,  and  then  Mary  Schneider  would 
have  a  very  easy  time  of  it.  She  could  have 
sat  in  the  automobile  with  her  hands  on  the 
speed  levers  and  the  work  would  have  done 
itself.  But  Mary  would  not  sit  in  the  auto 
mobile.  She  tried  to  explain  that  she  had 
seen  me  sit  in  it  and  that  the  Schneiders,  as 
a  family,  had  very  brittle  bones  and  could  not 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE    207 

afford  to  fall  out  of  automobiles  of  such  height, 
but  I  could  not  understand  what  she  was 
saying.  I  only  understood  that  she  said  she 
would  give  notice  immediately  if  she  had 
to  sit  in  that  automobile  while  the  pal- 
pita  tor  was  jiggering. 

I  had  a  feeling  that  all  this  was  mere  diffi 
dence  on  her  part,  and  that  when  she  once 
saw  how  easy  it  all  was  she  would  be  delighted 
with  it.  So  I  jacked  up  the  rear  axle  of  the 
car  in  my  backyard,  and  attached  the  clothes 
line  as  a  belt  to  the  rear  wheel  and  to  the 
drive  wheel  of  the  washing  machine.  I 
remained  at  home  one  Monday  morning 
especially  to  do  this,  and  Isobel  thought  it 
was  very  kind  of  me.  She  said  she  was  sure 
Mary  could  do  it,  and  would  be  glad  to,  after 
she  had  once  seen  how  it  was  done. 

Mary  put  the -soap  in  the  washing  machine, 
and  the  hot  water,  and  the  clothes,  and  I 
started  the  automobile  engine.  It  was  all 
I  had  hoped.  Never,  never  had  I  seen 
clothes  washed  so  rapidly.  Luckily  I  had 


208  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

thought  to  nail  the  legs  of  the  washing 
machine  to  the  floor  of  the  back  porch.  This 
steadied  the  washing  machine  and  kept  it 
from  jumping  more  than  it  did.  Of  course, 
some  vibration  was  conveyed  along  the  rope 
belt  from  the  automobile,  and  Mary  had  to 
hasten  to  and  fro  bringing  more  hot  water  to 
refill  the  washing  machine.  It  was  like  a 
storm  at  sea,  or  a  geyser,  or  a  large  hot 
fountain.  When  we  had  the  automobile 
going  at  full  speed  the  water  hardly  en 
tered  the  washing  machine  before  it  dashed 
madly  out  again. 

Isobel  had  to  help  by  putting  more  clothes 
in  the  washing  machine.  It  used  up  clothes 
as  rapidly  as  Rolf's  friend's  fodder-cutter  used 
up  fodder,  but  I  think  it  cut  the  clothes  into 
smaller  pieces.  We  discovered  this  when 
we  hunted  up  the  clothes  later.  WTe  did  not 
notice  it  at  the  time.  All  was  excitement. 

It  was  a  proud  moment  for  me.  The 
engine  was  running  as  well  as  it  ever  did, 
the  dasher  of  the  washing  machine  was 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE    209 

dashing  madly,  and  Mary  was  running  and 
dashing  to  and  fro  with  hot  water,  and  Mrs. 
Rolfs  and  Mrs.  Millington  were  cheering 
us  on.  I  began  to  believe  we  would  break 
all  records  for  clothes  washing  if  Mary  and 
Isobel  could  only  keep  water  and  clothes  in 
the  washing  machine.  Just  then  I  fell  out 
of  the  automobile. 

Possibly  the  sudden  removal  of  my  weight 
had  an  effect.  It  may  have  been  that  my 
head  in  striking  one  of  the  rear  wheels  moved 
the  axle.  Of  this  I  can  never  be  sure.  The 
rear  axle  unjacked  itself,  and  as  the  rear 
wheels  touched  the  ground  the  automobile 
darted  away.  I  was  just  able  to  touch  the 
washing  machine  as  it  hurried  by,  but  it  did 
not  wait  for  me  to  secure  a  firm  hold,  and  it 
went  on  its  way.  But  Mary  was  faithful  to 
the  last.  She — ignorant  though  she  was  — 
knew  that  the  weekly  wash  should  not  dash  off 
in  this  manner.  She — although  but  a  Pole- 
knew  her  duty  and  did  it.  Mary  hung  onto 
the  washing  machine.  Whither  the  wash 


210    ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

went  she  was  going.  And  so  she  did.  Rap 
idly,  too. 

The  rear  porch  was  not  badly  damaged. 
Only  those  boards  to  which  the  washing 
machine  had  been  nailed  went  with  it,  but 
where  the  automobile  went  through  the  back 
fence  we  had  to  make  extensive  repairs.  But 
it  was  all  for  the  best.  If  the  automobile  had 
not  made  a  hole  in  the  fence  Mary  could  not 
have  gone  through.  Of  course,  she  could 
have  gone  around  by  the  gate,  but  she  would 
have  lost  time,  and  she  was  not  losing  any 
time.  Neither  was  the  washing  machine. 
The  automobile  did  not  gain  an  inch  on  it, 
and  sometimes  when  the  washing  machine 
made  a  good  jump  it  overtook  the  automobile. 
So  did  Mary. 

I  saw  then  that  I  had  not  thoroughly 
domesticated  the  automobile.  As  we  stood 
and  watched  the  automobile  and  the  washing 
machine  and  Mary  dashing  rapidly  away  in 
the  distance,  we  felt  that  the  automobile  was 
still  a  little  too  wild  for  household  use,  but  I 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  211 

fully  believed  the  automobile  would  be  tame 
enough  before  it  reached  home  again.  A 
young,  strong  automobile  may  be  able  to  take 
cross  country  runs  without  ill  effects,  but  an 
elderly  automobile,  like  the  one  I  bought  of 
Millington,  cannot  dash  across  country  tow 
ing  a  washing  machine  and  a  Polish  servant, 
whose  name  is  Schneider  in  English,  without 
danger  to  its  constitution.  I  do  not  blame 
the  washing  machine — it  could  not  let  go,  it 
was  belted  on  -but  if  Mary  had  had  presence 
of  mind  she  would  have  released  her  grasp 
when  she  found  the  strain  was  too  much  for 
the  automobile.  But  it  is  strange  how  dif 
ferently  the  minds  of  male  and  female  run. 
As  I  watched  the  automobile  disappear  over 
the  edge  of  the  hill  I  said : 

"Isobel,Iguess  that  ends  that  automobile," 

But  Isobel  said: 

"John,  I  am  afraid  we  have  lost  Mary." 

And  yet  that  automobile  and  that  Pole 
were  the  last  two  in  the  world  I  should  ever 
have  suspected  of  running  away  with  each 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

other.  She  came  back  later  in  the  day,  but 
she  did  not  say  much.  She  packed  her 
trunk  and  took  her  wages,  and  remarked  a 
remark  that  sounded  like  the  English  word 
Schneider  translated  into  Polish.  The  wash 
ing  machine  did  not  return. 

When  Millington  came  out  to  the  fence 
that  evening  I  told  him  that  I  was  done  with 
automobiling,  and  that  the  automobile  was 
probably  mashed  to  flinders.  He  had  been 
looking  bad,  but  he  brightened  at  the  words. 

"John,"  he  said,  "if  that  automobile  is 
wrecked  as  badly  as  it  should  be  after  running 
wild  with  a  tail  of  washing  machines  and 
Schneiders-in-English,  I'll  buy  it  back.  I'll 
give  —  I'll  give  you  five  dollars  for  it." 

He  must  have  seen  the  eagerness  in  my  eyes, 
for  he  remarked  quickly: 

"I'll  give  you  two  dollars  and  forty-five 
cents  for  it!" 

"I'll  take  it!"     I  said  instantly. 

"It  is  mine!"  said  Millington,  and  he 
handed  over  the  money. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  213 

As  soon  as  it  was  in  my  pocket  I  heard  a 
rustling  in  the  currant  bushes  at  my  left,  and 
Mr.  Prawley  raised  his  head  above  them. 

"Mother's  well  again,"  he  said.  "I've 
come  back!" 


MILLINGTON'S  MOTOR 
MYSTERY 


XIII 

Millington9  s  Motor  Mystery 

MILLINGTON  and  I  hunted  up  the 
automobile  the  next  day,  and  it 
was  in  worse   condition  than  I  had 
imagined.     The  only  way  the  car  could  be  got 
back  to  his  garage  was  on  a  truck,    but    we 
got  it  there,  and  unloaded  it,  and  Millington 
hunted  upeall  his  tools  and  got  them  ready  to 
use  the  next  day.     It  was  late  by  that  time, 
and  we  locked  the  garage  and  went  to  bed. 

All  night  I  worried  over  having  taken  two 
dollars  and  forty-five  cents  from  Millington 
for  that  collection  of  old  metal  that  had  been 
a  motor-car,  and  as  early  as  possible  the  next 
morning  I  took  the  money  and  went  over  to 
Millington's.  I  found  him  just  going  out  to 
the  garage,  and  he  positively  refused  to  take 
back  the  money.  He  said  the  car  was  in  just 

217 


218  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

the  condition  he  wanted  it,  and  that  if  I  hadn't 
knocked  the  witchery  out  of  it  no  one  could. 
He  said  he  hoped —  and  just  then  he  opened 
the  garage  door. 

There  stood  the  automobile,  on  the  very 
spot  where  we  had  left  it,  but  there  was  not 
a  scratch  on  it.  Except  that  it  was  an  ancient 
model,  it  might  have  been  a  brand  new  car. 
Even  the  brasswork  had  been  polished,  and 
at  the  first  glance  the  tires  seemed  new,  but 
we  found  they  had  only  been  carefully  re 
paired  and  painted  drab. 

Millington  stood  looking  at  the  auto 
mobile  a  few  minutes  and  then  laughed.  He 
turned  to  me  with  a  strangely  contorted  face 
and  said:  "Uncle  Tom,  you  are  invited  to  take 
a  ride  with  Cleopatra  in  my  air-ship  to-night 
at  midnight." 

Millington  said  this  in  a  very  calm  voice, 
but  he  immediately  followed  it  by  asking  me 
to  have  a  piece  of  strawberry  pie,  and  instead 
of  pie  he  offered  me  the  can  of  gear  grease. 
I  managed  to  coax  him  into  the  house,  and 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  219 

when  the  doctor  arrived  he  advised  absolute 
rest.  He  said  Millington's  brain  was  not 
yet  permanently  affected,  but  that  another 
such  shock  would  be  too  much  for  him.  He 
said  that  for  the  present  we  must  humour 
him,  and  try  to  make  him  believe  that  the 
automobile  was  damaged  beyond  recovery. 
It  seemed  to  have  a  soothing  effect,  and  to 
aid  his  recovery  I  got  into  the  car,  ran  it  into 
the  street,  aimed  it  at  a  stone  wall  opposite 
Millington's  window,  threw  on  the  high  speed, 
and  jumped  to  one  side.  One  minute  later 
the  machine  was  afire,  and  half  an  hour  later 
little  was  left  of  it  but  the  metal  parts,  and 
they  were  badly  warped. 

Mr.  Prawley  came  out  when  he  saw  the  fire, 
and  a  look  of  the  most  fiendish  joy  glittered 
in  his  eyes.  Never  have  I  seen  a  man  show 
such  pleasure  over  the  destruction  of  an 
automobile.  His  hatred  of  automobiles 
seemed  to  be  endless  and  bottomless. 

When  I  told  Millington  that  his  auto 
mobile  was  now  in  about  as  bad  condition  as 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

man  could  put  it  into,  he  sat  up  in  bed,  and 
the  light  of  sanity  came  into  his  eyes.  He 
walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out  at  the 
car,  and  became  his  old  cheerful  self  again. 
He  said  that  there  was  no  doubt  now  that  the 
devils  in  the  car  had  been  exorcised,  and  that 
with  a  few  weeks  work  he  could  get  it  back 
into  such  shape  that  the  engine  would  be 
working  properly,  and  we  would  then,  he  said 
take  that  little  run  up  to  Port  Lafayette.  He 
then  took  a  little  nourishment,  and  by  night 
he  was  quite  himself  again.  When  he  had 
had  his  dinner  I  went  home  and  had  mine, 
and  went  to  bed  at  once,  for  I  knew  Mil- 
lington  would  be  at  work  soon  after  sun-up. 
I  had  hardly  got  into  bed,  however,  when 
I  began  to  fear  that  Millington's  eagerness 
would  get  the  best  of  him,  and  at  ten  o'clock 
I  went  over  to  his  house.  I  found  him  in  bed 
and  awake  and  cheerful,  but  he  said  he  did 
not  mean  to  get  up.  He  said  it  was  against 
his  policy  to  get  up  the  day  before  in  order  to 
be  up  the  next  day,  so  I  sat  by  his  bed  and 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

read  chapters  from  a  dear  little  work  of  fic 
tion  entitled  "Easy  Remedies  for  Ignition 
Troubles,"  until  the  clock  struck  twelve,  and 
then  Millington  hopped  out  of  bed  and  threw 
on  his  clothes. 

The  moment  we  stepped  from  the  back 
door  the  same  thing  struck  us  both  with  sur 
prise.  There  was  a  light  in  the  garage! 

My  first  thought  was  that  some  rascal 
was  in  the  garage  trying  to  ruin  Millington's 
automobile,  but  a  second  thought  assured  me 
this  was  impossible.  Ruin  could  be  carried 
no  farther  than  I  had  carried  it.  Bidding 
Millington  be  silent,  I  crept  cautiously  to 
ward  the  garage,  with  Millington  at  my  heels, 
and  without  a  sound  we  peered  in  at  the 
window.  The  sight  was  one  that  would  have 
shaken  the  strongest  man. 

Bending  over  the  motor,  with  his  face  made 
unearthly  by  the  artificial  light  that  fell  upon 
it  obliquely,  casting  deep  shadows,  was  that 
villiain,  Mr.  Prawley!  I  have  never  seen 
anything  so  devilish  as  that  wretch  as  he 


222  ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

worked  with  inhuman  agility  and  haste.  His 
long,  claw-like  fingers  danced  from  one  part 
of  the  machine  to  another  fiendishly,  and  a 
hideous  grin  distorted  his  features.  He  was 
humming  some  weird  tune,  and  I  noted  that 
he  was  ambidextrous,  for  he  was  varnishing 
the  hood  with  one  hand  while  with  the  other 
he  was  putting  in  a  new  spark  plug.  A 
tremor  of  borrow  passed  over  Millington  and 
over  me  at  the  same  moment.  A  few  whis 
pered  words,  a  few  stealthy  steps,  and  we 
burst  in  and  seized  Mr.  Prawley  by  the  arms. 
In  a  moment  we  had  him  on  the  floor  of  the 
garage,  bound  hand  and  foot. 

Millington  was  for  wreaking  immediate 
vengeance  on  him,  but  I  stood  firmly  for  a 
more  lawful  course,  and  the  next  day  we 
handed  him  over  to  the  authorities,  and  his 
whole  miserable  story  came  out.  His  name 
was  not  Mr.  Prawley  at  all.  Neither  was  it 
Alonzo  Duggs,  which  was  the  name  he 
he  had  given  us  when  Isobel  and  I  hired  him. 
His  name  was  William  Alexander  Vander- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE  223 

gribbin.  He  came  of  good  family,  but  mania 
for  speeding  automobiles  had  brought  him  to 
ruin,  and  the  third  time  he  was  arrested  for 
over-speeding  a  sentence  of  thirty  years  in 
the  penitentiary  had  been  pronounced  by  the 
judge.  The  judge,  however,  had  suspended 
the  sentence  provided  that  William  Alexander 
Vandergribbin  never  again  touched  an  auto 
mobile. 

For  several  years  Vandergribbin  fought 
down  his  appetite.  Then  he  fell.  He 
changed  his  name  to  Flossy  Zozo,  and  se 
cured  a  job  as  the  death-defying  loop-the- 
gappist  with  the  big  show.  For  a  time  the 
speeding  down  the  runway  in  the  fake  auto 
mobile,  with  the  somersault  at  the  bottom  of 
the  run,  appeased  his  cravings,  but  the  rules 
of  the  show  prohibited  him  from  tinkering 
with  the  fake  automobile,  which  was  strictly 
in  charge  of  the  property  man,  and  Vander 
gribbin  left  the  show,  changed  his  name  to 
Alonzo  Duggs,  and  seeking  our  quiet  town, 
chose  work  in  the  house  nearest  the  man  own- 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SUBURBANITE 

ing  the  oldest  automobile.  For  weeks  he  had 
watched  his  opportunity  —  you  know  the 
rest.  He  is  now  in  Sing  Sing. 

I  am  sorry  to  end  this  story  so  abruptly, 
but  Millington  has  just  come  over  to  ask  if 
I  would  not  like  to  take  a  little  run  out  to 
Port  Lafayette.  I  have  always  wanted  to 
go  to  Port  Lafayette,  which  is  about  eleven 
miles  from  here;  so,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  I 
will  go  and  button  Isobel's  matinee  gown, 
and  we  will  be  off. 


END 


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MAY 


|0u 

•  _   - 

[Uj  LOJjffi 

R£ 

c  cvr.  APR  22  13B5 

LD  21-100TO-12,  '43  (8796s) 

J_,l  L^  J^  ^-f  -^   f ** 

The  adventures  of  a 


suburbanite 


m 

JUN  19 


M92355 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


BOOOfl2b57D 


